back to the beginning

everything is not as it was

Moving back to my childhood home after four years away at school, I have been recharmed by my backyard. The towering ash tree in the corner litters dappled sunlight over the lush grass, the shade providing sweet relief from the sun’s scorching rays. The orange tree saturates the air with its sweet florals, and the plum tree’s buds protrude the supple green beginnings of a succulent harvest. 

It has changed since my childhood; chickens now share the space, paying their rent in eggs and early morning squawks. The white peach tree has been replaced with limes, and the rope swing knotted to a once low-hanging branch has been tangled up too high to reach. 

I step out, my bare feet crushing the delicate blades of new growth, and feel the earthworms under the dirt begin to writhe and sing, pulling me down into their tunneled maze. For a moment, just before one swallows me whole, I can remember what it feels like to doze off on the sun-warmed pavement, fingers sticky from tearing into the flesh of an orange.