WORDS • IDEAS: CINDY THOMPSON
Childhood-Clouded Memories The cool summer day beckons me to my backyard to flop my aging bones on the ground, gaze at the clouds still making formations I remember from my youth ... a cirrus dragon, definitely a dragon; a cumulonimbus whale, a stratus poodle. Memories of those halcyon childhood days flit in and out my mind like the lightning bugs I caught in jars. Hide and seeking, roller coaster riding, Red-Rover-come-over days. Drippy popsicle afternoons spent merry-go-rounding at the park until I fell over in sheer joy. Running from house to house to play with cousins who teased me relentlessly. Snagging candy and hugs from aunts and uncles who smiled and loved me unconditionally. Then, in an instant, the sky darkened. The clouds and memories disappeared slowly. Then they were gone, a magician’s vanishing act, and me questioning if they ever really existed. Only the nostalgia remains.
Cindy Thompson, an internationally published writer, is a coal miner's daughter descended from Italian immigrant grandparents. She does poeting at a mile high in Lakewood, Colorado. Digesting new words, riding her horse, staring at the night sky, and reading poems to her feral cat bring her delight. PAGE 64 | THE PURPOSEFUL MAYONNAISE
