If there’s one thing I love doing on nice days, it is reading. Today, I decided to go to the park.
I sat on a bench across the river (past the road). It was serene.
The breeze gently hugged me as I immersed myself in beautiful literature. The wind flipped its pages one by one.
I started where I left off: Hope, a poem from Lang Leav’s book, Memories.
While reading the sentence:
“Your love for him is the same– it runs wild and free.”
It made me remember my childhood spent reading beneath the trees in tatay’s (grandfather) garden. I know this doesn’t have any correlation with what the poem is trying to say, but those summers when I was a little girl were indeed wild and free.
Currently listening to: Wild Ones by Bahari
I would wear my flower crown and pretend that my grandfather is the king, and I am his little princess. In his garden, I could be what I wanted to be.
I danced with the leaves and sang with the birds.
I would climb every tree tatay planted. Up there, I saw endless adventures. And endless adventures we did have.
Sister and Cousin: Tatay’s Garden 2014
I intended to finish reading Hope today, but I wasn’t able to. Instead, I went back to tatay’s garden.
Until the next blog post,