She was Five Years Old

There must have been better times that I can remember?

Times, I remember. Watching the trees sway in the wind. Time is strange as it turns, constantly moving, constantly changing.
Time never stops.
A child.
Brown ringlets blowing in the wind.
A child with eyes large.
Golden brown eyes sparking in the deep sunshine.
To her life is still an adventure.
Nothing has crushed her yet, her fears not yet validated.
In ways she is stronger at the tender age of five than she will ever be again. She runs through the grass with scrapes on her knees and an angelic spirit, screaming laughter as she goes - she is free.
She is exuberance,
she is freedom.
In this park that she’d play every week.
     The park was lush green, with wooden play equipment that became her castle. Surrounding the park were horse trails and old oak trees, making her fairy tale only that much more of a reality. She knew secrets were held beyond the old trees. She knew mysteries laid beneath the old creek, running cool water beneath the shade of falling leaves. But one tree was her favorite. One tree was her own. Every day she was brought to this park, she would sit beneath this tree and sing songs of friendship to it, relishing in its wise magic. She would take breaks from running with her friends and climbing upon the equipment to sit with its silent majesty. Beneath this California Sycamore she’d lay. There was nothing spectacular about this single tree. There was no outstanding reason that she would have chosen this tree to be hers.  Its white bark did not shine any brighter than the rest and its leaves certainly held no deeper a pigment, and yet she felt it was hers. Her sacred spot to sit alone.
She was five years old with brown ringlets, golden brown eyes, and an adventurous spirit.
She was five years old with a constant smile and a strong belief in magic.
She was five years old and her soul was shared with this tree.
She was five years old and the freest that she would ever be.