Was returned recently by way of fatherhood to that place,
Where youthful imagination was allowed to roam.
Too many blissful hours to even calculate.
Every inch covered by foot – or by fingertip.
Every pathway discovered.
Every emotion ripped open for diagnosis.
Every impulse explored.
Every blade of grass manicured.
Every curve of the water’s body traversed.
Every topic, shared words on lips.
Until only the elements spoke.
The moon danced across the sky,
Tiptoeing gracefully through the stars.
The ticking clock whispered
“Departure is a must.”
But a fence or a lamp post or a bench or a tree would say
“Not yet. Steal another moment.”
And the night birds would agree.
That was all the persuasion needed
For the magic of the darkness to continue.
© 2016
Andrew Spradling 