Rose-Tinted Days

Ah! For the sweet rose-tinted days of endless spiraling time when we bannister slid our way to curving morning, climbed through the rails of adult strictures out to own our unmapped course. Allowed mere whim and fancy rein to take us galloping where it would. Chance ruled our day -- a horseshoe found for fishing luck from each springing hour, or daisy chained to minute's fickle ways, a swing on branch, a fall, lost shoe, direction changing clouds chased out of view. We shooed our way through strewn meadows; daytime moths danced on our wrists. The way home was forgotten.