Memories of Childhood

Memories of Childhood I was born in California, around fields of strawberries, surrounded by rushing highways leading from small town to small town. I remember each birthday party, car-ride, or walk; we were always protected with blankets of sunshine, or sheltered under meadows of soft breezy clouds. We would walk along the beach, the sand, small warm dunes crumbling beneath my feet, intaking shallow breaths of the freshly crisp salt air. I remember each unique adventure that I would partake in. Whether I was searching for treasure hidden beneath the Golden State's grainy warm hue, or through the buoyant waves. My Grandfather was always by my side. Until we moved to Oregon, where the wind and rain seemed to almost wail in agony. I often spent my time resting my head against the towering windows sill, longing to play among the towering trees, admiring the crystalline tears of the sky above. As well as immersing myself in the immodest chatter of taps against the house walls, and the musky, fresh petrichor. It was almost as if the rain was knocking, whispering to let it in. We had lived in Oregon for almost a decade, before we moved again. Only a half an hour away, seemed like an eternity. Furthermore, we moved to Washington. A state that's in a state of constant gloom. I had been spoiled by California's soaring forests, rugged mountains, as well as its sun-smitten valleys. I aspire to draw in another breath of California's sweet smell of spring, hopefully sometime soon. Although, for now I'll just keep it in my memories.