N. Abtop

Haibun #28

We roamed the maze of trails encircling the gravel pit; lost in the childhood fantasies and fantastical ideas of a gang of juveniles who were not delinquent, only wild with creative impulses and adventures, we crept inside old pump houses which we were certain must have really housed Devil Worshipers and their sacrifices, waded through weeds that had likely never been cut back, and sped down Evel Knievel ramps of dirt with our bikes; like butterflies, we fluttered about the back story of our town.

childhood remembrances –
wind through a pile of leaves
scatters them in our yard