The place i grew up

Wander down a small lane in my mind, and pass by all the big houses, the ones that look new, with pretty cars sitting in front of them. Pass them by, and eventually you will find a small house with a maroon door surrounded by roses. By now, the ivy by the window will have crawled lazily up the brick, weaving a wall of green over pitted red. The old twisted lilac by the side will have twined its branches inseparably into the cherry tree beyond.  The maple by the drive will have reached towering new heights, the rope hanging down from its branches battered by the winds, the fort in its center warped by rain. This is where i grew up, the place where i learned to read, to ride a bike, and to tie my shoelaces. Rosie, the girl i once was, still lives in that house, her laughter echoing round the rooms in my mind. She is still a child, filled with wonder at the world, rejoicing in each new moment.