I grew up in a blessed place,
at least for a few years.
A valley.
The sky always painted with
the faces of mountains.
Snowy winters, humid summers.
I thought all places were like this,
forgetting in a child's way all
the other places I'd lived.
It was magical.
All the trees were taller than
all the houses. Oak, maple,
dogwood.
There were special places
for a girl with a bike.
Wild raspberry thickets.
A tree swing. Fieldstone walls.
A seasonal pond that filled with
tadpoles every spring.
But the most special place
was TPBTM.
A sacred name for a sacred place.
I had to ride my bike through
the neighbor's yard to get to
the boulders that blocked
the dirt road.
I always left an offering of
flowers. I was always
filled with joy there,
especially at the
swamp.
Painted turtles, snapping turtles,
dragonflies, bullfrogs, snails,
minnows, sunfish, poke-
weed, pitcher plants,
mullin, skunk
cabbage,
and
bugs,
amphibians,
and birds of all kinds.
I spent so much time there
I dreamed of it as I slept,
partially submerged,
my ears filled half
with water, half
with the ever
present
drone
of
miraculous life.
I keep it only in my heart now.
I grew up.
I went to college.
Bulldozers filled in the swamp.
Chainsaws cut down the trees.
Pavers paved over the black-
berry bushes.
All the houses there are taller
than all the trees.
I grew up in a magical place,
at least for a while.
Not yet harnessed to time,
I never saw change coming.
I imagine her, me, still pedaling
her bike (it had a name too)
as fast as it could go,
down the street
and through
the
neighbor's
yard and straight
up to the boulders that were
enough to stop a grown-up with
a car but not a girl with a bike.
I see her reverently placing her
gathered flowers, asters
and white clover and
violets, her mind
only on spotted
salamanders
and
maybe
a blue heron
if she was lucky.
She climbs over the boulders,
her bike in tow, and disappears
into the woods, into the place
behind it all, beyond it all.
Unbowed. Unbroken.
I can leave her there.
And hope someday I get to
see another mountain painted
sky, taste a wild fruit, glimpse
an orchid, and so fondly
remember TPBTM.
July 24, 2026
