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There was a time I skipped down this country lane, pigtails bouncing on my back.
Broad blades of grass tickled my toes and cool patches of earth kissed my bare feet.
Occasionally I’d pause to pluck a bouquet of blue cornflowers from the meadow for mom. She’d smile and tell me I made her feel so special. And then I felt special too.
There was a time I walked on air down this lane hemmed in by sturdy weathered oaks. Moonbeams lit the way as fingers entwined and arms swung in the carefree moments of budding young love. While gazing at the perfectly hung nightlight, my heart throb presented me with some Queen Ann’s Lace. . . .“because you make me feel like a king,” he said.
There was a time I scurried down the country lane of my youth to keep pace with my energized daughter. Dandelions dotted the carpeted meadow and captured her attention. I remember Janie cupping the detached fuzzy heads in her tiny hands, beaming with pride as she offered her gift to me.
There was a time I lagged behind my adventurous grandson as he raced down the lane, splashing through puddles sparkling in the mid-day sun. Without hesitation he caught two swirling oak leaves. Giggling he twirled them with his chubby fingers. “They’re happy,” he said. “How do you know?” I inquired. “Because they’re dancing--just like you and Gramps.”
Today my pace resembles a car rolling along in neutral. Casually I make my way down the old familiar lane to the meadow--my sanctuary. Time has stolen away and memories, like popping corn, fill my mind with pleasure. I stoop to gather a few cornflowers, reflecting on a long ago day with my mother in this very place.
This country lane feels like an old friend to me. It has been a place of solace when I needed to sort things out, and a path of joy when shared walks and talks left etchings on my heart. Calendars of time have now melted away much like Spring snow. Tilting my head to the blueness above I whisper a prayer of thanks. Grateful am I for country lanes, flowery meadows, young love, children and grandchildren. With my bouquet of cornflowers I head for my cozy home, knowing that I’ll be greeted by the man that still gives me Queen Anne’s lace.
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