Monday, August 17, 2009

Haiku: Copse

We talk today about our free-ranging youths, marvelling how our moms (and mums) would send us off in the weekend mornings or summer days and never begin to wonder where we might be until it was time for dinner. If they were enablers, as my mother certainly was, they would help in the preparation of our all-day absences, packing bag lunches and changes of clothing and towels for the pool or the sprinklers or the creek. All this at the ages of 7 or 8.


They were secure in the knowledge that we would be fine. And we never had a moment of doubt that that was so, even when our older siblings would ditch us or our friends would play a game of hide-and-seek far too well or we had only just heard from Saturday night's babysitter the tale of the scratch-scratch-scratch on the roof of the car.


At the bottom of our street was a small creek and a patch of woods. The small patch of trees eventually led into a wide swath of woods. The woods is almost certainly long gone now, victim of the overdevelopment that hit the northern Virginia area in the 1970s and 80s.


I do wonder if the little area still stands. If it does, I'm certain that no children wander freely. Instead, I envision it looking like every single park or bit of trees or open space I happen upon nowadays: peopled with adults keeping their ever-wary eyes on fewer and fewer children.


Does any of this have anything to do with the prompt this week from One Single Impression? Where does "copse" come into this? Hey, do I need an intro and segue for everything?

Cutting to survive
transforming to the present:
Surviving the cut.

12 comments:

anthonynorth said...

We are not living in a kid friendly world any more, I think. A terrible shame.
Great haiku.

Wifey said...

Wow. I think about the same things and wonder how and why things had to change so much. Great post.

Winks & Smiles,
Wifey

SandyCarlson said...

You intros are part of your style, and they bring such heart to your poems. You have me thinking of how and what I cut to survive.

Sweetest in the Gale said...

You described my childhood to a "T"...we would roam the neighborhood freely from morning to night, roller skating, riding our bikes for blocks and blocks, playing kickball two streets over...when the sun was finally setting, we'd all scatter towards home. It's so sad that these days are gone for today's kids...although, even if they had this freedom, they'd probably prefer to stay inside with their computers and video games. Your haiku was lovely. Thanks for bringing back some wonderful memories for me!

The Dark Lord said...

This is such a profound post.. its very relevant for present times.. Your haiku is brilliant.. it is a succinct description of the prelude..

mayberry said...

That is so utterly perfect. I love it. (The haiku. Not what's happened to the copses. Copsi? Copsy places?)

Coal Miner's Granddaughter said...

Lord, I remember terrorizing the good people of the suburb of Montrose, Charleston, West Virginia. Late-night summer games of spotlight and manhunt. I'm sure the cops were called once or twice. Here? Now? Kids don't do that and what a shame.

Tumblewords: said...

Surviving the cut - it is how it comes about - fine post!

Tara R. said...

I remember being the same way as a kid. I wish my own kids could have known that kind of blessed freedom.

Patti said...

I loved the trip down memory lane~talking about being sent out for the day in the early hours- so true. We also had places like you described where we could play our days away safely. Ironically, when I first read your poem, my mind jumped to the emotionally troubled teens I work with- some "cutters" and your poem actually fits and works with that topic as well...interesting...

Jim said...

I rode one of those "Segway" machines in Colorado (Durango) last summer.
Now I would need one to get to my reprieve at the bottom of our hill. My sister learned 'not' to smoke there, I learned ...
Just lots of memories invoked here!
..

gabrielle said...

a loss of innocence. lovely segue into a haiku gem.

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