Running Up the Blooming Hill

In my puberty, I was carefree as Peter Pan, but the joy for thrilling adventure was in me; if hadn't be surrounded by Nature and being free I wouldn't have created memorable words with my pen. Running up the blooming hill on clear spring days, I learned how to climb rocks warmed by lively sunrays; very idyllic was the landscape with lilies, pansies and sunflowers: I looked up to the bluest sky and shallows on their return filled it with shrills. Never thought of writing a poetic line until I explored the beautiful land under whitest clouds and merriest sounds, never forgotten to pick up wild roses for mom who loved flowers; does a tender youth learn to love Creation without having knowledge of God? Can I relive the days of climbing the blooming hill fluttering with butterflies? The urge is very strong inside until I decide to return to the adored places I left my footprints on, then wonderment will reappear to amaze; will I become again the innocent child who gave God praise? Written on 5/17/2017