Old Walkways

Today, I walked on that old familiar road from my childhood. It finally got warm enough for the snow to melt and the air smelled like damp wet leaves again. The sound of the melting ice dripping from the garage rooftops and the eerie fog made me feel as if I was walking through an enchanted forest of apartment complexes. And as I walked through the alley behind the place I used to live, a memory emerged from the fog and struck a chord within my heart.

My grandmother's wrinkled hand completely enveloped mine; it was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. We were walking to that place on a sunny spring day. I was so young I didn't understand. I did not know her language, her past, her culture, or even her name. I did not realize how strange she was here and that she did not belong. All I knew were those piercing cat-like eyes, those hard working hands, and that she completely belonged in my world. Her hand steadied me as I skipped across the crumbling cement. In that moment, I was happy and light. My heart was so light that when I leaped into the air, I felt as if no intrinsic force could bring me back down.

As I walked through this alley again, I could almost see the ethereal memory playing within the fog. I saw the little girl glancing upward at her grandmother with vibrant eyes that reflected the sun. But they are both gone now and I can't even... She is gone now; nothing but memories and tear stained ashes. They walk on the air blind to my trudging burdened body. Gravity has such a strong pull on my heart that it is now laborious to even walk. Age has taught me that growing up also comes with great knowledge, sorrow, and strength. And I know that as I grow older my heart will only be pulled deeper into the ground until it is buried into the earth.