Days of blissful ignorance and innocence (17 September, 1995)

It's a beautiful day today.  The sky has cleared and now is a beautiful cerulean blue with both puffy cumulus and wispy cirrus clouds.  I love the sky.  It's absolutely amazing.  No matter what the temperament it retains an exquisite sense of beauty.  I wish I could fly.  I think that may actually be why I love the story of Peter Pan so much.  I envy him because he can fly.  (And because he can hang out with faeries and has a vivid imagination.)  Sometimes I wish I could go to Neverland.  But, then again, it's got its problems, too.  Every place has an antagonist, and as so Neverland has Captain Hook.  I'm sitting gin the park as the day is drawing to a close.  The trees are shading the little broken bench upon which I am perched.  The birds are whistling their cheerful stories.  (It's really quite a lovely chorus.)  The weeping willow behind me gracefully stoops as if trying to touch my shoulder in an attempt for some consolation.  But I don't even think the weeping willow could be sad on a day so lovely as today.  The grass is green and high, and is speckled with the white buds of wild thistles and the crisp brown of dead leaves.  A soft cool breeze is blowing through the trees, though my hair, touching my face with its soft kiss.  There are children's voices echoing from the playground over the hill.  The laughter of innocent, protected children ... What a gorgeous melody.  The whole scene makes me hopelessly nostalgic; although for what I can't say ... I think basically for those moments in the past when I felt completely safe and loved.  Days when I never felt lonely or strange.  Days of blissful ignorance and innocence.  Why must we all become of jaded and closed as life goes by?  It seems the older one gets, the more one learns that life should open up for us and engulf us in its beauty and in its endless amazement.  Instead we become trapped - forgetting to explore, losing the love of adventure that guided us with unparalleled force as children.  We become lost.  It's a shame.  I miss my childhood.  Growing up is very difficult.  I only hope I can have the courage to keep exploring, to keep going on adventures and to keep being amazed and awed by the simple pleasures and lessons of life.