Appalachian Meadow
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #263 prompt: In the Meadow
The daisy 's and dandelions grow as high as our knees, unencumbered by lawnmowers. The moss is soft and cool on our bare feet. The trees that line it are perfect for climbing, while the creek that runs on the other side is cool and clear. It is where we cool off, splashing and playing the mountains that make up Appalachia grow tall around us.
It is a sanctuary, no less holy then a church, where we find peace from the chaos that makes up our home. A hideaway where the yelling can't reach, birdsong and the gurgling of the creek replace it instead.
We climbed the mountain, reaching a place where we could see the meadow. There, we made plans, build forts, were children.
Some would say we were poor. Drawing from a well, cutting firewood, a trailer at the end of the long lane. We had the meadow, the mountains, the creek. We were much richer than we knew.