The Field of Adventures!

That's me in front of my growing up home located in the isolated Upper Peninsula of Michigan. My mother always took photos of me between these two trees. I have a "two trees" picture for almost every year of growing up! In the background, across the street there is a field where I loved to go adventuring. I even wrote a poem about it a few years ago. It goes like this:

The Field

Adventuring, I cross the street to where my field awaits,
trimmed in yellow buttercups—no locks, no doors, no gates.
I make my way among brown nests, pink thistle, and grey rocks,
white-petaled dancing daisies, rust Indian tobacco stalks.

My hidden rock I hunt and find, familiarly fingering traces
of glacial pox and smooth cool stone, my haven, blessed of places.
Up scramble I upon this throne, look my vast country over,
survey the turf o'er which I reign, lands rich in purple clover.

Observe the Monarch butterflies, as, fluttering, they pass by,
sailing o'er my shimmering sea of wild wheat, quack, and rye.
Then, settling back, I dream of things like ice cream, pop, and stories
from books I'll read when I return from this grand world of glories.

White billowy clouds breeze overhead, scud 'cross the sapphire sky
my golden hours in the sun pass all to quickly by.
A meadow lark is nesting near—its sudden trilling song
reminds me I am trespassing and have been all along.

I know it's nearly time to leave, but I've saved the best for last—
the joy of rediscovering my precious berry patch.
Strawberries, tiny treasures. Rich and ripe and red.
My tin cup runneth over from the field with flowers wed.

(This post came from an idea received from my dear friend Doreen. Choose the fourth picture in the fourth folder where pictures are saved, post it, and tell a bit about it. What fun! Try it! You'll like it!)