A Brief History of Breevort Park

 

My grandson skids down the metal slide
and across the wet grass, trailing bright
green laughter. When he disappears behind
an oak, I chase after him and run smack
into a memory

of myself as a young mother in this park, chasing
his mother, my daughter, around this very tree.
The same ancient roots caught our toes, tripped us,
as we raced to the slide and thought only
of the now.

She skipped up the steps, called out to me, waved.
Then perched on top, wool hat not quite covering
her curly joy, orange jacket zipped to the very
edge of her smile, she looked up at the early winter sky
and let go.

​

​

​

​

Visit Terri's website: www.terri-paul.com