I remember big wheels
and church bells.
We climbed on top of tube slides
and measured who was bravest,
while the sun dipped lower
and lower,
and the three little yards,
our everything,
were bathed in that curious
orange hue of the waning
daylight hours.
We took up arms
of long wooden swords,
and broke the mirror's hold.
We were peasants,
we were kings,
we were warriors,
we were farmers,
we were off the cuff
with a story book ending
that never quite came
before dinner time.

That's why I stopped
and watched her leave her tiny pink shoes
on a root,
while she climbed up and up,
finding a comfy crook
in the boughs to sit
and read a picture book.
I walked down to our old jungle gym,
and I saw that I stood
a head taller
than where we were scared
to jump.
The little rock wall
was missing a few pegs,
and the green tube slide
was a sun-bleached white.
The wind tousled the grass
and I caught that fresh
summer scent.
I closed my eyes.
I heard church bells.