Little Kids

April 20, 2013      James Hayes Nichols
Posted to: prose poems - 2 Comments - Click to Comment

 

First we were kids, little kids playing in the backyard, exploring the woods, not knowing the time or the ancillary stillness of things, not believing in the slowness of time, young not old not dying, knee-skinning, pool-pushing, locker-slamming little kids bright in the morning sun, getting our pantlegs wet in morning dew, air crisp, lungs clean.  Little kids.

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2 Comments… add one
Julie April 21, 2013, 3:17 am

I love this. I think about those days a lot. When I do…it helps if there is a gust of wind and a rustling of leaves…I get this refreshing feeling and longing for the past. I want to live in those days again…now…and appreciate now like I remember those days.

James Nichols July 1, 2013, 6:00 pm

Thanks for your insight, Julie!

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