My Earliest Childhood Memory : Four Seasons at My Grandmother's House

I can still reminisce about the house where eclectic bits of my childhood memories could coalesce into one

So Elysian and phantasmal that putting it into words would be elusive and recondite

The vivaciousness had now desiccated and was left saturnine, but the memories remain cordial in nostalgia

The house was an unwavering and eternal companion in which I could succumb and find nirvana

It was utopia where I could plunge into a state of oblivion from the attractions of the world

A place where life required no destination and perception of time

I can remember surrendering into the serene and placid arms of its garden

Its liveliness and lusciousness enchanted me, despite being encountered daily

All life encompassing the house fell into harmony with one another

Spring and summer gifted the house with the mellifluous euphony of birds, gentle whispers of the wind, and rustling branches amalgamated, submerging me into a deep trance

A large vista of sunlight hit the earth with refulgent splendor and overwhelmed me with rapture

An ideal place to reverie and reconcile with nature

The vibrant colors start to fade when autumn walks into the garden

It denudes the trees of foliage and paints the green with orange and nostalgia

It blows a chilly breeze sending several species of animals into migration

But there was one thing I did appreciate autumn for doing so, which were the leaves it piled before winter arrived

Whenever winter made a grand entrance with amazingly ornate snowflakes, I retreated into the house for warmth

Winter did not paint the earth with color but brought with it a whole new theme

It adorned the divested trees with pristine, soft, and untouched snow

It sent white angels descending from above which I watched with great awe from the big windowsill frosted with ice.

I breathed onto the glass and drew a window with four panels using my finger, knowing that I would meet the four seasons again next year