The Island

Being back in that room was surreal and comforting.Looking out of the window at the pool that i used to spend hours gazing at, fascinated,wishful,longing to jump right in. It looked not like a swimming pool, but more like a little private island, remote and peaceful. Just one tree, in the midst of clear blue water. It always made me thirsty. I remember the 1st time i looked out, i needed a stool to reach the window.. and later kneeling on the bed, leaning out, watching the raindrops form perfect little ripples in the still water. It always felt so safe there.It held a strange fascination with all of us kids..we all went through it, almost like an initiation process of some sort. When i was old enough, i held the wide eyed little ones at the same window-just as the older ones had held me- I'd point at the water and the trees (there were many more by then), sharing the web of imagination that i'd woven in my own mind, humming tunes, and telling tales about 'the island' which i'm sure the young ones understood in their own ways..secrets that would remain only between us.
Now the house is quiet.The room has changed in so many different ways, just as we all have.The window remains, and right beneath it the bed, albeit a new one, in the same place.I await the next time we'll all be back there, together again, the young and the old..I sit there,in wistful silence, fascinated and puzzled by the way life moves at a startlingly rapid pace, and yet stays so very still, I gaze out, at the island - my very own.