I remember being a kid and having a book about dinosaurs. It was a treasure chest of information that a bike and a best friend found worthy of adventures. With a bike, a best friend, a hammer from the garage and a map on page 81; summer days turned into the best works of imagineering.
Getting lost in the woods. Finding yourself in a creek under rocks with giant craw dads. They weren’t imaginary creatures. They were a part of our world. They were born in the rocks. all around us. They came from the forests, and knocked down trees.
With binoculars pair, a spot from a far. Their giant roar and epic battles. Triceretops in a field. Look, over there! Is it really one. Out past the creek.
Bikes behind us.
No care of the war in the middle east. What persian gulf was, except that there were a lot of dinosaurs there once. No care of how muddy our shoes got… nor how wet our socks. After all, we would probably just take them off and forget about them anyhow. 25 years ago. I was five.
I dreamt big and explored wide. Not much has changed.
The war still wages in lands far away. And day after day dreams grow with my age. I have been to the edge and south from there. I have been in 130ºF. But still the dreams, they grow, and adventures abound. My rockett driven hopes still they fly.