The sun beats on our heads and sweat dances down our necks. The winding path led by flaxen hair, a true woodsman. Confidently leading his followers to an oasis only some know. The sounds of cicadas gently hum as they nestle back into the ground and the sun flickers above as the sun reflects off of the trees causing a golden light show.
At the end of the path a soft trickling comes from the bottom of the valley. A small forgotten water. A treasure for our fearless leaders.
Splashing, giggling, tadpole searching a 2-year-olds delight. Forts to be made, rocks to be skipped, red stained cheeks.
Smiles plastered on their faces, mud smeared into their shoes, pure delight.
In an unforgotten wood, down a little creek… lend your ear
You may hear the sweetest sounds of summer