In Memory of Backyards

Back then, backyards were big enough to nurture a growing soul and provide a space for the earth to play out its seasons in full rehearsal. There were wide tracks of grass, trees to climb, old sheds to rummage with their interiors full of tools and bric-a-brac webbed in history. There was food - ripe tomatoes and corn from a vegetable patch, grapes swelling under a cool canopy of vines, soft skins bursting their dark sweetness inside expectant mouths, almonds, apricots and the luscious dribble of a warm peach down sticky cheeks. Some had roaming chickens with their bounty of eggs. Backyards were blotting paper for a child's hurt, a hiding place to get away, a theater for projecting the phantasies of a sheriff or a princess high in a golden tower. And in summer, a sprinkler casting a gauntlet of cold spray for tiny feet to challenge. Then it all ends when backyards become too small and more exotic places call a restless soul to leave its Eden and break the spell of its beginning.