Whenever I fall prey to the stress that adult life sends my way, I head to a place in my backyard... A Place where a special chair sits by my sacred garden.
Among the birds singing their sweet songs and the butterflies being amused by the rosemary and thyme, my favorite childhood chair remains, basking in the beauty that surrounds it ...
I am not quite sure when this old, distressed piece of furniture came into my life, but I do remember the feeling of excitement. "Just for me?" I asked my mother. Her reply: "Of course."
Though the seasons change, my little special chair does not. It survivies rain, heavy winds, and rays of sunshine; it stands faithful and often hints of Pride, knowing that no matter what my mood, it is there to preserve my childhood memories. During the exuberant early days of autumn, as a child, I used to sit with excitement near our tiny pumpkin patch, wondering which great pumpkin was coming. 
My chair is the bridge to my past,-- an extention to days of innocence - when life was simple and the hug of my Mother was more than enough.
As my Grandmother May sat near me in her own chair, reading a book, the strength of womanhood was instilled in me for life.
Weeks will sometimes pass before I sneak in a memory or two; but when it gets to the point where I need to deeply exhale, then inhale and refill my soul, I sneak to my backyard chair and rekindle the thoughts of yesterday, where a little girl sat with the marvelous world all around her.
