Remembering

I remember such younger days,
and how beginnings were made to grow
out of what could be found nearby,
left within easy reach of childhood.
and what small clever hands could make
from adult loss and forgetfulness
with imagination still unlimited by the world.

I remember how big it was.
How large our small world became to us,
and how long it took to walk back
through long humid summer-hot evenings.
Returning slow through stilled twilight
with sore scabbing knees and filthy hands,
and a head full of endless possible tomorrows to come.