There was a lawn fence and long hill
rolling down to the pond. We unlatched the gate
and pushed old carriages into the wilder grass.
Though we had outgrown a pram, our bodies could still
fit inside its wicker frame. Troika or gypsy cart
we both imagined a different trip, loaded ourselves in
and slid over the slick green
startling a few robins and causing some apples to fall.
The sweet musk of fruit, flight and field
became our ripe scent of magic. Our garden
made secret by the craft --
of invention, what tale and character
each girl felt, (fabricated in a moment's flash)
until her ride finished at the edge. The water gleamed smooth
as a looking glass -- inviting us to swim and slip through.
Beautiful illustration is by artist, Inga Moore