I visit a childhood home,
one I haven’t seen for more than forty years.
It’s not the same colour;
new owners have changed the siding to brown.
They probably didn’t like the old yellow-green shade.
My parents were the original owners; and
I wonder how many times the house has been
bought and sold over the years.
I reflect on the things we owned back then.
All gone.
My old clothes and books are lost.
All of my toys are gone.
Our old black-and-white television is probably still
decaying somewhere in a landfill.
All the furniture we had is gone
and been replaced many times over the years.
Perhaps some of those old relics
sit in other people’s homes still.
They were mostly made of wood and
were of high quality,
having been built by Mennonite craftsmen.
I wonder if the furniture pieces I have in my current home
will last me the rest of my life.
Or will I feel compelled to replace them
when overcome with some new decorative whim?
Childhood friends have wandered off
to their own futures.
I wonder if any of them come back here
to visit their childhood homes.
I wonder if they are all still alive.
I wonder if they are happy in life.
I search out the woods where I played with my friends.
I remember my dad telling me that the city
promised never to tear down the forest to build houses,
that it was supposed to stay there forever.
I discover that the city officials were mostly honest.
The woods still stand, but they are smaller,
not just because I’m older and they look smaller.
I can see where the neighbourhood has encroached
onto the edges in some places.
A corner of the forest where I once sat to whittle animal talismans
has been cut away to make room for a seniors’ home.
My friends and I created several trails
through the woods when the suburb was new.
Now there is a proper trail through the woods,
paved in concrete.
Those seeking a forest experience will never have to worry
about muddying their shoes.
The forest has changed since my childhood.
I cannot locate specific trees that I remember climbing.
Nevertheless, the forest brings back some joyful memories.
There is, however, a fine line
between joyful memory and debilitating melancholy.
It’s when I feel the sadness of loss
begin to envelop me
that I exit the woods and
return to my present.