Unfinished; Memories part 1

There's a hole next to that great ol' oak.
People walk past it daily, and dogs dig at it deeper
The occasional child runs and trips.
But does anyone stop and listen to the faint laughter?
The laughter two bored twelve year old girls shared one far off summer.

When the rain falls,
Filling the pit with mud, drowning the insects.
Children get scolded for splashing in the puddle,
Mothers grabbing their dirty hands and leaving rapidly.
Do they only recognize it as rain?
Or the tears shed during teenage self discovery.