Here is a beautiful poem from Ellen Yates, reminding us all of the little things we loved most about our childhood. Thanks Ellen!
Childhood is summery yellow walls,
and legos on the floor.
It’s magnets on the fridge,
memories and reminders amiably trapped to stainless steel.
Childhood is stifling dog days,
crisp, florid falls,
lush woods that mist in early morning,
and modest farmlands tucked between tiring azure hills.
Childhood is books on tape and pizza adventures,
a life coach, and a loving empathizer.
It’s Let the dogs out and Be kind to our siblings,
and an eclectic community of ardently familial friends.
Childhood is the Red House downtown,
a belonging to the Land for Lovers.
It’s the Bigsky and the Big Easy,
a sociologist’s wisdom and a clinician’s compassion.
Childhood is made of these sentimentalities:
Boxes kept of 4th grade achievements,
under beds, bins of a 5-year-old’s treasures,
CD’s made as my father’s hobby,
and paintings contrived by long-dead and distant relatives.
Childhood is a spring from the rocks of a tentative genesis into the world,
and offspring cannot be split from its roots.