I was ten years old, short with frizzy curls and speckled with freckles.
You were a stark contrast with poker straight black hair and tan skin.
We were the same inside though, bored with our backyard play, forever seeking a new place to traverse.
We happened upon what would soon become our town on a mild summer day.
We were walking past Jennifer’s house and noticed the huge grassy hill along side it.
Deciding to finally stop questioning what was over that hill, we went for it.
Our hearts hammered in our chests walking up the steep incline and we were out of breath when reaching the top.
More hills came to follow.
They were so steep they didn’t seem real.
There were houses scattered all around but no people.
It was as quiet as a church. We walked on noticing a distraught looking park with a broken down bathroom and rusting sliding board.
Passing that, we saw another dale so steep the fence stuck out at odd angles, resembling a curve with crooked teeth.
The tree in that yard held thick juicy pears that we would sneak and eat while going up and up.
The view was spectacular to our little eyes and still is now.
This seemingly secret part of our town was ours and we pretended every time we visited that we owned it all.
When I’m visiting here, I’m always reminded of these memories and I smile.
This post was inspired by another blogger’s post I read called Tinseltown by @MSKCAFE @Mahika