Tags
car, childhood, growing up, life, mother
When we didn’t have a car
We walked a lot (which goes without saying)
The air was crisp and cleaned our lungs and made us smile
And we went to the library often
So we read and filled our little hearts with wild adventures.
We stayed home and baked pies with the apples that fell into our yard
And stained our mouths purple from blackberries.
And of course, we felt really grateful when a friend invited us to the movies, the mall—hell, the grocery store—if it bought us a ride in their car.
When we didn’t have a car
We dreamed of road trips we would take
When we looked at the clouds we’d see Cadillacs and Buicks and Fords
And close our eyes and breathe in the sweet scent of exhaust
And leather interior.
When we didn’t have a car
I still felt so lucky with life
My mom loved us ferociously
We played. We created great things. Filled our young brains with knowledge.
We curled around the fire together and read and sang and slept
And were lucky to be (always) the closest family I have ever known.
We laughed. We dreamed. We loved madly.
When we didn’t have a car
It didn’t really matter
Because we had eachother.