Ode To A Playground

Not my spot, but pretty similar to it…

You’re gone. It will never be the same again. The magic I found in you will not return. The timing though could not be better. I wonder why it happened at that moment. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it happened so I could let go of you for good as everything was about to change anyway…

I’ve spent many hours sitting with you admiring the moss growing on your roots and imagining that little fairies would live inside and under you. The little creek that was softly flowing past you took my imagination even further. Maybe there would be water fairies too? Would the fairies get along? Would they need little boats too? How would they build their houses? Was the moss enough for them to keep warm? Were they hiding in pine cones?

I was a child. A child that took her horse for a ride and stopped on a regular base next to you to let the horse have a drink. Then I decided to actually stop and have a snack and let my imagination run wild. I child that picked up pine cones, pretending they were little forest people. A child that collected sticks to build little shelters for the pine cone people. A child that was looking forward to return, smell the fresh forest air, listen to the splish splash of the creek, watching sticks float by, caressing her horse while telling the forest people story to the beautiful mare. A child that eventually turned into a teenager, who still loved to escape the real world on her rides and take a breather, sitting on the cool moss, smelling the moss, the soil, the forest. A teenager that turned into a young adult, enjoying to take a break at that very spot and let the mind wander.

You provided me with many beautiful days. Hot summer days were spent in the shade of your branches. Crisp fall days were equally enjoyed. In winter though you were off limits as there was just no way to get to you. Every spring I was wondering if you would still look the same or if nature would have changed something. Of course you changed slightly. The loss of a branch, a new created little arm of the creek. They were small changes. What didn’t change was the calm you gave me. The little escape from whatever was going on in my life. The energy I found back to after taking a break under the branches.

I still visited you after growing up, even after losing my horse. And I was hoping for many moments spent admiring you with my children. But it was not meant to be.

We decided to move to Australia but that was not the biggest change. Nature changed. It changed everything.

It was a huge storm. A lot of rain. And the river that fed the creek carried too much water and too much debris to be handled. There was a massive flood that changed the entire area you grew in. Months after the storm, when it was safe to return and things were kind of cleaned up everything looked different. Gone was the creek. Gone was the gentle river bank. Gone were you.

Gone was my childhood.

It seemed like a clear end to a chapter of my life. It seemed like a sign that it was time to move on.

The interesting thing is that this area was what I would have missed the most. Now it’s no longer there. As much as I felt sad for it to be gone, it helped me to let go of what would no longer be there. My childhood, my horse and my life in Switzerland.

The memories though will stay with me forever.

Inspired by the Daily Post Daily Prompt – Ode To A Playground

23 thoughts on “Ode To A Playground

  1. I have fallen in love with a little wood forgotten by the city behind my apartment block. For a few years it held deer and other wild life. All day I could Hardly wait till I could get there at the end of the day. It was like life wasn’t real till I got there and felt the day fall from my shoulders . They have torn it up and are putting condos in its place. None of my neighbours cares, nor the kids that would have loved it too if the iPad had never been invented. It makes it more special because someone could have passed your tree and never saw the tree as you have, just as those that tore mine down could have in no way possible have seen my wood as I did or it would still stand. Thank you for this , thought I was a lil crazy for mourning a bunch of trees like the loss of an old mentor , but I know how you feel.

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    • What a shame… I can so feel with you. In my case it was nature that took it from me. I knew it would eventually happen. With all the snow and avalanches we get in that area as well I was actually surprised it stayed the way it was for so long. It would have hurt me much more if it would have been taken by people just to build more houses. You are right, kids are very focused on their devices. It’s up to us to make them look up and realize that there is a real world out there too. A beautiful one…

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    • Yes, they do. I would probably still miss it. But I don’t because it’s no longer “my little place”. It’s different. As I said, I’ve been back there after they cleaned up an you could get there again. And it didn’t capture me as much anymore. They tamed the river when cleaning up too… cut back the trees on the river board in order to reduce the risk of them ending up in the river in another storm. It’s just not the same anymore… No emotional attachment for me any longer. I still find the timing interesting. When I knew that we would move the first feeling was heartache because I’d lose the chance to get to that place. And then the storm happens and the problem was solved. I often think about the fact how right the timing was and why it happened then.

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  2. That’s a beautiful tribute, Sandra, I had an amazing playground of nature growing up. The tree swing and creek are still there, but sadly, the kids have abandoned it for electronic pursuits. ❤️

    Liked by 2 people

    • That’s such a shame… What I think is even more sad is that the parents don’t take them. My kids love their devices. But when we take them outside they are happy to play with what ever is there. They enjoy their hikes, they take in what’s around. We discover and learn. And when we come back I’m happy to give them screen time. So they get both. I guess you just can’t get around the devices anymore… but that doesn’t mean that you have to let go of the other side. It’s up to you as a parent to make sure they understand that too.

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