Green Ferns

I once was in love, I was only ten years old. Perfectly innocent we held hands and were equally happy. I remember these summer afternoons after school in the forest hidden under a roof of three foot high ferns, away from the world.

Lying on a blanket we each read the same book of The Famous Five written by Enid Blyton, our mutual favourite writer.

I remember those peaceful afternoons, the quiet reading, no words necessary to express to each other what we felt and we were both content with that. These high bright green ferns where like magic to us, one moment cycling through the woods, the next minute nowhere to be found, hidden for all. And all we did was read our books or just lying there with our eyes closed.

There were these green ferns, the perfect hiding place, the sun, the quiet times we spent there, the air was filled with sweet sounds of wind, brushing the leaves. Crickets chirping underneath the moist carpet of the woods, I felt the tickling leafs of those ferns in my hair.

There are still thick, high and bright green ferns in those woods, but we’ve all grown up now.

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