Wednesday night’s heavy rain continued into mid morning. When I opened the door and stepped outside, the smell of summer rain catapulted me back to my childhood. Yes, opening the door is essential to the memory of rainy summer days, all mine to fill at whim. I recall riding my bike through paths in the woods my dad had made, and setting up a fort behind a tree or rock. I always called it a fort, but my play had nothing to do with battles. The only thing I protected was my solitude and privacy.
loved the rain and was always disappointed when it stopped. I recall a similar feeling on a school snow day when the snow stopped and the sun came out. The inclement weather gave me a sense of never ending freedom—I won’t have to grow up. No wonder I loved Peter Pan.
I weep for the children who don’t have play in their lives and who don’t have childhood memories of dreams and imaginative play to help them cultivate who they are as adults. Maybe I loved my years at the cottage by the sea, because I could step out the door and be free, regardless of the weather. I’ll be going to Florence in September, where for two weeks I live in never-never-land where I don’t have to grow up.
loved the rain and was always disappointed when it stopped. I recall a similar feeling on a school snow day when the snow stopped and the sun came out. The inclement weather gave me a sense of never ending freedom—I won’t have to grow up. No wonder I loved Peter Pan.
I weep for the children who don’t have play in their lives and who don’t have childhood memories of dreams and imaginative play to help them cultivate who they are as adults. Maybe I loved my years at the cottage by the sea, because I could step out the door and be free, regardless of the weather. I’ll be going to Florence in September, where for two weeks I live in never-never-land where I don’t have to grow up.