Wishing The Clouds Away

It was yesteryear when I woke to the sound of the leaves on the old Cottonwood Tree chattering outside my open bedroom window as the summer breeze stirred the morning air. I sat up on the edge of the bed, scratched my head, them pressed my hair down with both hands, the closest thing to combing my hair would see all summer. Then pick my old cutoffs up off the floor, slip them on and I was dressed and ready for the day. A quick bowl of cereal and I was out the door to see who might be out on the prowl. Then, if no one was stirring climb up in the proud old tree house and wait. I can remember the quiet groaning of the lumber as the wind blew through the trees, gently rocking the tree house as I lay looking up into the mostly blue sky concentrating on the small white puffy clouds until I made them disappear, a trick my Uncle Bill had taught me. As I lay there, I remember thinking how neat it would be when I grew up and could do anything I wanted to. Now I sit back in my old chair by The Creek , listening to the trickling water, staring up at the mostly blue sky, and think how neat it would be back in the old tree house wishing the clouds away.