Once, someone asked me to recall a childhood memory that always makes me smile.

As I considered this, I went back to an early spring at my grandparents’ house.

Each morning, I would pack a sandwich and a drink along with a small notebook and a pen. I would walk to a small hidden field in the back area of the farm. It was so bright and green, glistening with dew in the sunlight. Surrounding the field was forest, still gray and covered with leaves from the long winter. The sheer contrast of emerging from the stale woods into this beautiful, vibrant field is still vivid.

I would sit just on the edge of the grass, not wanting to spoil it with my footsteps. Butterflies were performing the little aerial feats that young butterflies do as they excitedly explore the newly opened flowers. I watched the birds making fast, low skims trying to snatch up any flying insects that foolishly ventured too high.

I would pull out my notebook and pen and begin to write about whatever I was feeling at the time. Often these would be little observations about things I had recently experienced, dreams that I had, or little short stories that would fill my head.

Those days in the hidden field were filled with innocence. I had never experienced the pain of a lost love, never been lied to in order to be taken advantage of, and the real meaning of regret was beyond my understanding.

As I reflected on that time, and how I felt then, I captured just a hint of that innocence. For a single instance, a tiny breath, I forgot about doubt, disappointment, and uncertainty. I relived a cherished moment, one that will never again occur even if I found that field again tomorrow, and I smiled.