No More

When I was younger I would roam the woods with out giving much thought to the world around me. I was full of youthful imagination.

I would dream of all the places I would go, and people I would meet as I climbed a giant oak tree that stood out in a field. Sometimes sitting for hours in its’ thick branches enjoying the heat of the day, looking out over the field, watching the small animals play amongst the grasses. I would sit and imagine I could understand the animals, and hear the thoughts of the wood.

There high above the field I would watch the creek flow lazy like through the wood; filled with treasures only young men and women would understand. I knew sooner or later its’ cool waters would call me down from my throne to sooth away sore muscles in its’ cool embrace letting my mind drift to love and happiness. Filled with hope, and pride, and a sense of self worth I would wade through the creek dreaming of the days yet to come. I would roam these sweet waters finding gems as rare as diamonds.

There in the creek I would feel my strength renewed; I would spring from the water and climb sheer walls, laughing with glee at the idea that nothing could stop me. I would run head long into the forest at top speed, jumping down embankments, leaping over fallen debris, always looking forward, never looking back; running till nightfall.

In the night I would stalk the monsters of the woods; soaking up the darkness becoming one with it, invisible to all creatures. Enjoying the sense of utter aloneness; I could be me, the real me here. Where my imagination could run free, and my future was bright, and full.

I am still running forward only now I run on the treadmill of commerce, I still think of the future, one void of 40 hour weeks, and deadlines with the threats of joblessness. I sit high above the paved roads and buildings in a hard chair, looking through a window down on creature less playful than those of the wood. The creek with its’ priceless treasures is paved over, and shut away from the naked eye; the embankments plowed under for parking lots. I now stand utterly alone in a sea of bodies; littered not with the debris of the forest, but of waste. And now I look back, and I no longer see Youthful imagination, but instead Youthful ignorance.