Summer

The red poppies had no smell to them. Unless you took the stem and twirled it between your fingers. Then they would stink. But oh, the flowers were so beautiful. Like wildfire. Her hands brushed against the leaves lightly. How could something so fragile and soft also have such a stench? Was it a direct proof that alluring appearance meant nothing? Unless the heart was pure.

She was young. Oh, so young. Such questions of existence would never bother her back then. Not yet. Her childish soul only cared about dreams. Imagination. The world that could not be seen. She had no fear. No compromise for missed opportunities. Whatever she decided, she did. No tree was too high. No forest too thick. No meadow too big. She was the world and the Earth was her.

A child sees more. Not stuck in the material hole. A youthful soul loves without measure, accepts knowledge with pleasure, and finds undoubtful treasure in everything that the world has to offer. A connection. The Earth spoke to her. Like wildfire.

She did not have worries. Her feet were bare. And even when the grass got too rough, she did not mind a droplet of blood. There was a balance. Red in everything. Earth in each atom. She did not know yet where she had come from but she was thankful to the world nonetheless. A relationship formed in that tiny soul.

The summers she climbed trees. The winters they all were together. The time when she made her own swing. When he taught her the ABC's. When her great-grandfather was taken away. Lifeless. There was no darkness. She might have been afraid. Just for a fraction of time. She might have wanted to stay young forever. Just for months. But she knew there was an endless amount of doors throughout life. She came from the Earth and she would return to it.

Who knew what followed... But again, her young mind did not worry about such things yet. It had just a couple of memories. The rest was pure fog. She learned about death much later on, though. When the little frogs that she had caught, died. In the sand castles, she had made. There was not yet that conscious feeling towards killing. There was just sadness and confusion about a life lost.

She tried the second day, thinking that water would help. But the frogs died again. Maybe from her keeping them in her hands so much and accidentally squishing too hard. Maybe because those frogs were not meant for living in the sand. She never tried again. Not with frogs. She didn't like how their lifeless bodies made her feel.

She built a house for snails. From old clay bricks. It was wonderful in her eyes. It had moss and levels, floors of wonders. The creatures escaped the same day. She did not understand. Why did they not like her house? She tried again and again. To seal the beings in. She did not understand the concept of imprisonment and free will back then. After all, she was just trying to make the snails happy. And, building the house was fun. Searching for snails was great. It took her days away. She did not know they did not feel the same way. Or that they were driven by basic instincts.

She lived in paradise. She learned as the days went. There were not many people but there was all the life she needed. It was fun looking for eggs in the hens' nests. It was sad looking at the cow who had to spend all winter inside. In a tiny block. She would have a big barn for a cow when she would grow up. And her cow would not be lonely. She would have a friend. She hated to think how miserable the animal was. It gave milk, though. Her grandma milked the liquid straight in a cup and gave it to her to drink warm. Another memory. Of pleasant liquid that tasted so pure.

She remembered the birth of a calf. And how it had been achieved. There was no male. Just a vet. And that long glove. Then there was the baby calf. It was gone soon after. She did not know where. But the cow had a great summer then. Living in the fields. At least she thought and hoped so. Oh, the fields! Where there were so many creatures. The plains that led to the river. Leeches. She remembered those. How her mom had gotten out of the water with pitch black blobs attached to her skin. Slimy and gross. It was around the time when she learned about fear and disgust. It was the time when her innocence started disappearing.

But the water was magical. Swimming was amazing. She loved liquid and she spent more time in the river than on the land. At least when it was warm enough. They walked. Her and her oma. To the forest, for mushrooms and berries. Berries that she never picked. Just ate. Her mouth would be blue when she returned home.

There were ruins left from houses. Destroyed during the war that she did not know. Devoured by time and its unforgiving touch. She liked exploring them. Finding leftover trees and bushes that still gave fruit. That is how she learned about the yellow raspberries. The ones that tasted like nectar of Gods. Sweet and soft. She visited that ruined house often after that.

But then she stopped. Her connection did not die but it did get pushed back. She stopped. Going there. To her paradise. With the cynical years and growing up, there was less happiness. Through puberty, she became someone else. She knows now, she was selfish back then. A bratty teen that did not realize that life does not last forever. She holds back tears because she misses them. She loves them and she has forgiven herself but it is still saddening. How her grandmother became paralyzed and turned to be not herself. She remembered it well. The day when she waited for potato pancakes but found her grandma laying on the floor in the summer kitchen. Unable to move. How years passed and her grandfather died alone. That she hates the most. She hates herself for it. He was the best thing she had then. Tears. She hopes he knows how much she loves him. She knows he does. She knows he is with her.