Childhood Memories

Just beyond my yard awaits a special place where I can reminisce about happy childhood memories that I have experienced. During our childhood, my friends and I used this place as a hideaway. In this place homework was unknown , chores never existed, and our imaginations never stopped. Our troubles, worries, and responsibilities were left behind. This place was an exciting playground where our imaginations could run wild.
A babbling brook located just outside our front door served as a place to escape from reality. The pure rainwater washed over the rocks forming pools of water sporadically down the creek. These pools of water were filled with strange creatures; however, the dangerous creatures lurking nearby such as a snake or crawfish never frightened us. We would catch these creatures in our pails and admire our great find. The fascinating rocks we collected meant more to us than a chest full of gold. The rocks, in our imaginations, transformed into tools and the clay turned into makeup where we would give ourselves names and pretend we were Indians. We used this to escape from our own identity and transform into someone incredible. I often recollect those carefree days, when the sun glistened on the surface of the water, and we sat aimlessly watching the clouds float by without a care in the world.
The journey to our special place seemed to make the brook even more interesting, a challenge in itself to reach. Grown-ups were not allowed in our private world. Therefore, we told our parents to cover their eyes so they could not see where we were headed. In our minds our little world belonged to us and we made the rules. Reality failed to exist in our world and imagination flourished. To reach our destination, we traveled down a narrow path, to a steep treacherous bank. The bank ,to us, appeared as an enormous mountainside. We carefully eased down the hill and made our way to our secrete hideaway. After that, we crossed the shaky bridge that we made to cross the ditch, leading us to the creek. When we reached the creek, we immediately threw our shoes off and splashed in the cool water.
We would play endlessly until the last ray of light from the sun had slipped behind the trees. Only then, did we realize it was time to end our adventure. Sometimes I take a walk to our creek, but it has changed. The path has disappeared; the water does not feel as crisp. The images in the pools have faded, but if I stay long enough and look hard enough I see glimpses of them, or is it just my sweet memories?