Memento Silva

Titiana Sleeping     

        Childhood memories seem to have a mind of their own.  They often rise to the surface of our conscious unbidden, and sometimes without reason.  For some, their value is equal to precious gems; a glittering chain to the past.  One memory I have that has stood the test of time is the day I spent by a creek in sunny North Carolina.  Nobody died, no one lost their job, no one got engaged, and nobody won the lottery.  Yet this day still outshines the rest, like the unwavering light from a planet in a sea of flickering, fading stars.

            It is not yet ten in the morning and already it is hot outside.  Today is Saturday and I am an uncharacteristically bored nine year old, lounging on the carpet with a book. The pine scented wind comes wafting in through screens caked with pollen.  Looking up through the window, I am hypnotized by the long pine needles swaying like feather dusters in the breeze.  Why on earth was I reading inside on a day like this, when I could be reading outside?  I cram the book into a miniature pink backpack, toss in a few pretzel sticks and make my way to the back door.

            “And just where are we off to, my little peach pit?”  The eternally testy tone of a mother sounds from the kitchen.

            “Only the creek,” I call back in a would-be casual tone. “Jeez mom.”  It doesn't faze her.

            “Well, then let Joseph go with you.”  She replied.  Fine, fine!  My older brother is the less likely of my two siblings to argue with me, so it's just as well.  The two of us set off down the steep hill where the creek rushes under the road at the bottom.  We had run through these woods so often that we no longer needed the faint trail that ran through it, and if we ever found ourselves lost, we simply made a new path.  After many stops to observe funky shaped fungi and bird calls, we’ve reached the end of the second section of woods; our destination.

           The creek widened into a pool and flowed through two great tunnels beneath the road.  On my right, a little waterfall chattered and sang above the creek, and the forest burst with summer greenery on my left. Sitting on the ledge that ran over the tunnels, I tried my hardest to focus on the book, but every flash of sun on the water kidnapped my attention, stealing my eyes from the page.  My brother thwacked pretzel crumbs into the clear creek beneath us, longing to see a tadpole or two.  Beneath my feet a leaf sailed past and vanished into the tunnel- I imagined an ant on it, riding with the current, off to save his ant hill and fight against enemy grasshoppers. 

            Here in Heaven, where the birds are an orchestra and flowers paint the grass, is my haven where nothing matters but fresh air.  I’m far away from switches and screens, buttons and timers.  This place is my solace.  Here is where the sound of humming refrigerators is replaced with the buzzing of bees, and the morphing clouds against brilliant blue are better than a cinema.

            Just my brother, Mother Nature, myself, and no other.  This is the day I fell in love with the flora of a forest.  It is a day that won’t be easily forgotten.