The thrill; haunting my dreams

Pink is glistening before us

Luminescent dots of yellow,

Flicker in and out of sight.

The meadows are knives and feathers

All at the same time;

Feet blackened as asphalt

And skin rough with dirt and sand.

A giggle here, a whine there

Everyone nagging each other

“Come on!,” “Let’s go!,” “Do we have to?”

Incessant questions from toddlers.

Mosquito bites, scraped knees,

And bruises from who knows where,

Yells and screams for joy,

Countdowns from 100,

Crying over spilled milk.

Pink turns to purple,

Our mothers ring the dinner chimes,

But still we raucous.

Huffing down the rode on our Huffies,

“Look, no hands!”

just as skin meets pavement.

Screams of terror, rocks in uncomfortable crevices,

Tears define the severity

Everyone, running to their mothers for aid

All fearful that one more drop of red will certainly mean death.

But a bandage and kiss, ice pack and some teary laughs

All is as if it never happened.

The sky turns navy blue, celestial beings

Twinkling like the airplanes next to them

Wet with dew, cuddling underneath blankets and leaves

These are the days that define who I was,

Straight out of The Sandlot and just as exciting.

Who can say they can look back at those days

And remember each one just as vividly as the previous,

As though you were still in the dream of that day

Awaiting for life today to be as it was.