Countless times have I trudged this road,

Coming into a park.

Countless years have I witnessed the leaves turning red on the trees here.

My shoes sink in the tanbark of the playground, softened by the rain.

Countless times have I trudged this path,

Walking towards a small hill.

Countless times have I rolled down this hill with friends met at the playground, whom all disappear as time passes.

A sound comes from my right.

A crying child.

Like walking in a fragment of a memory.

Countless times have I witnessed this scene as the parent tries to comfort the crying child who does not stop.

Countless times have I trudged across the park, looking at the dogs chasing each other across the grass, tackling each other.

Knowing it was the time of year when the trees start wilting,

The trees wave as I pass. I know them, they know me.

Past the park, countless times have I trudged this empty road.

Thousands of my footprints only the ground recalls.

Countless times have I trudged, the path down the hill where I spent hours riding on my bike up the tortuous hill just to feel the exhilarating feeling of the wind blowing on my face as I speed down the hill. 

Countless times have I walked this path, my weary legs supporting my body past familiar houses.

Countless times have I stopped by a particular flower bush to smell the white flowers growing on them, a strong sweet scent that almost seemed stinky if you leaned in too close.

I remember countless times when I would hop in the small pebbles by the side of a neighbor's house, that now lay there, a few remaining in small numbers.

Countless times the leaves crunch under my shoes like they do every year.

Countless times have I walked this driveway towards home. Ten years.