The Path

Let me tell you a story.  When I was ten, my seventeen-year-old neighbor used to take me into a ground floor garage filled with dusty couches, broken car parts and rusty lawn furniture and rubmy back for hours.  A junk-filled hideout below apartments A, B and C, part of a larger complex of seven rooms and five cottages over-looking Lake Leelanau.  The apartments were rented out to tourists for weekly rates throughout the year but mostly wayward family stayed occupied them.  Out of touch family  flocked to the sharing and caring Glass Family more than willing to give their time and the free use of the run-down hovels.

The Glass House Motel.  A turn-of-the-century house bordered by a thick wood of Maple, Pine and Birch trees.  Creepy, yes, very creepy. Grandma Glass lived with them, too.  Only now, do I make the reference Alfred Hitchcock’s film.  Luckily, I was too young to see the 70's horror flick or perhaps I would have been a little more frightened of my loving neighbors.  Michael, their only son of four children that love extended beyond maternal or paternal or even neighborly and into the realms of desire, morphing into teenage experimentation.  Each day throughout the summer, I would travel the path through the wood to the Glasses.  Oh, the Path, such a role it played in my childhood.  I could walk the worn dirt trail north from my house to the neighbor’s house and on through the woods further to the Glass House under a vlevet sky, led only by the light of the moon reflecting off the pale bark of the Birch trees. Fear of darkness never crept in for  my army of leaved warriors guided my every step.  Every so often, for the thrill of spicing up my  life, I would transform my existence from Laura Ingalls on the prarie to a Flowers in the Attic scenario in which I would imagine being stalked by a rapist or a tracked by a bear.  My heart in my throat, I would quicken my steps  to a sprint, screeching to the house, yelling, "Mom, I'm home!"  Glad to be safe.  Yet, all those years of travelling to and fro on the Path, I never once lost my way, its points plotted by porch lights scattered throughout the forest.

We would play basketball at their courts adjacent to the barn-red chipped

Obviously I am still working on this, If you read it thus far, thank you, I am simply a hobby writer looking for critiques....