When I was Young

The soft breeze brushed against my face. I felt the wind travel between each pigtail and the cool surface of the handle bars gently grasped by my tiny fingers. I closed my eyes, using the rest of my senses to focus. I had done this a thousand times. I knew every pebble, every string of grass that possibly existed on the sidewalk. I could navigate through it with my eyes closed, easily. I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the deliciously cool air and slowly opened my eyes. Today was a new day, a beautiful day. I gazed upon the scenery of my culdesac. I looked at the pale blue or cream houses with brick front porches. I took in the site of majestic oak trees that I loved to climb. I gazed upon my own backyard which entailed a few acres of wooden forest and a swing set right in the middle. I thought about those things for a few brief moments before I returned from that world of dream-like memories to the world I rode on. I peddled to the end of the culdesac, passing dogs while my wheels crunched on bright orange and yellow leaves. My mom would call me back inside in a few minutes to the warmth of my house, cookies, and Saturday morning cartoons. Everything was simple then; everything was good.