Memories are wonderful things. Imagination is the creative backbone of humankind. Without these we would be colorless, dreamless beings. Is that why I feel so passionately about writing? Perhaps. I can't remember a time when I wasn't either writing or reading, losing myself in another world. Sometimes an idea or a memory will come flitting by and I must capture it. I remember back to a time when I was creating my very first personal website. What would I put on it? A childhood memory reared up and tapped me on the shoulder. I quickly began to type and the story unfolded. I'd like to share it with you. I hope it depicts the words that describe my blog: Sharing my passion for the written word by painting pictures in the minds of those who dare to enter...
Digging back through my childhood memories as I sit upon my deck pondering all I have been blessed with, I remember one close companion.
"Spooky" was his name. He was a beautiful palomino with a coat that glistened in the sun. His mane flowed softly, fluttering in the wind, while his tail billowed behind. Bareback I rode him, my legs gripping his muscled sides. We were one, riding across the meadow in the early morning sunshine.
Spring flowers were in abundance, their colors splashed across the meadow. Along the fence line in the distance, apple blossoms could be seen. As we neared the orchard, the breeze carried their perfume, surrounding our senses. I smiled, knowing that soon there would be red, juicy fruit hanging heavily from the branches of the apple trees.
Spooky slowed, and we trotted along the fence line, heading toward the creek. As the bank came into view, we slowed to a walk, listening to the water as it flowed across the rocks marking its bottom. I jumped from Spooky's back and made my way to the water. There was no need to tie him, he would not leave my side. We were tuned to each other, knowing each other's thoughts and moods. He was my best friend, my close companion, and my protector.
The water was cold, and sparkling in the spring sunshine. I removed my shoes and socks, sat in the dirt, and allowed the flowing water to tickle my toes. Tiny water spiders made circles on the surface, as they did their butterfly strokes in the quiet pool above the rock formations. I watched them, wondering what they ate, what their purpose was, and how they lived from winter to spring. Knowing all things God created have a reason for existence, my mind queried all aspects of life.
Across the water was the wooden cross. We had placed it carefully there, marking the spot where my beloved cat had been buried. This was our special place, mine and Spooky's, where we could find peace, and restore our faith. I raised my face to the sunshine and closed my eyes, allowing the warmth to soothe my soul.
I lay back on the grassy bank, opened my eyes and watched the clouds. Across the sky danced unicorns, bears, and even a funny old man's face! Watching closely the shapes would change, melding one to another, forming wondrous pictures. Time passed slowly, and yet too quickly, in this special place.
I donned my socks and shoes, and jumped to Spooky's back again to begin the long ride home. I could hear the voices of family as we neared the house, and we slowed our pace to savor the memories we had just created. Leaning low across my horse's back, I hugged his neck and thanked him for the ride.
Reaching home, I leapt from my mount, and led him to the pasture. I turned him loose to graze and enjoy the remainder of the day, and walked quickly to the house where lunch would be waiting.
As I sit here sipping my tea and savoring the memory, I smile and think of my parents sitting on their deck, still in my childhood home. The creek is still there, although it is now a dry bed, and a Metro Liner rail forms a bridge across its banks, where it carries passengers into the city. The wooden cross is gone from my cat's grave, and her bones have long since become one with the earth. And Spooky? He has long since passed away, put to pasture with other childhood things, although he will live forever in my memories, in my dreams. In reality, Spooky was only a wooden stick, pulled from my father's scrap woodpile. But to me he was a golden palomino of regal stature!