Nostalgia

whipping window glass covered with dew, I perched to get a panoramic view. Meadow in front is still in shape, Resuming to become place of escape. Calling my name all these years, Heard it when I sharpened my ears. As Petrichor acted like time machine, Bringing back the memories of teen. The old tree I sheltered in hide and seek, Piece of beauty when youth was in peak. When we were in woods a bit deep, In obscurity what must be here to creep. Returning home with promise to return, To inquire over what is left to learn.