Looking back, I remember running through the long lush grass pretending we were at battle andtrying to take cover. I would always find myself behind the old oak tree in our back yard. This was my favorite spot. The thick trunk, like a bodyguard, protected me from the imaginary bullets that flew towards my body. I would lean against the hard bark and for some reason it was comforting to have something sturdy to lean on. It was dark brown, and every now and then a spider would nestle between the pieces of bark. Sometimes I would touch the tree to peek around the corner and my fingers would be sticky. I could never quite figure out why that was, but, nevertheless, I had the hardest time getting it off, a constant reminder of my tree.
When my brother and I weren’t at “battle,” I would lay beneath my oak tree and daydream. As I looked up I could see millions of branches protecting me from everything above. At the end of each branch were hundreds of more leaves that would gently catch the morning dew, and carefully allowed it to make its way to the grass. It was like thousands of stars in the sky as the sun caught the drops and allowed them to sparkle so brightly. This was my heaven, and as I lay there, I could feel the plush grass, like a snuggly old blanket, holding my body gently against the ground.
Sometimes the grasshoppers would appear from around a blade of grass as if they were asking for approval to jump on my blanket. Every so often a leaf would jump off its branch to greet me as I sat. It would float through the air as light as feather and land softly on the grass. As the autumn drew near, it was like a rainstorm of brown, yellow and red leaves, all falling to make way for the beautiful spring leaves.
When winter came the tree stood bare, unprotected and sad. Suddenly my favorite spot was stripped of its innocence and baring the naked truth. But it never failed, as spring rolled around, the old oak tree lit up with vibrant green leaves and reassured me that it was ready for my companionship once again.