There was a ditch

There was a Ditch.

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There was a ditch. It was my canyon. I did not own it. But it was mine and ours. It was surrounded by devil walking sticks and wild roots. When we covered it with a board a bunker it became. When we jumped over it we landed in a foreign land. When we were chased by ghosts of wild creatures we knew we were in a protected land. We had wild beasts, electric fortress and gazing castle keepers. The path for our land was hidden from the outside world. The endless summer seems years ago. I remember when the land was cleared and the house was built. I miss that ditch. I wonder what happened to the devil walking sticks. I have yet to see a devil walking stick in 22 years. The memories and scars of battles remain. One day when I dig a ditch for my child I'm sure they are going to look at me and wonder. Why did dad dig a ditch for me? And then I will tell them the story of the fortress and gazing creatures, of the devil walking sticks and canyon jumping. Of the flying twins, and the jiffy trail. As I drive by the land today the whispers of the wild remain and they welcome me home.