The adventures of Steve and Pat

Opening the window the smell of the dried dead leaves on the ground bring my mind back to the old farm as a girl; Stephen and I wrestled in the leaves, me the young sister all of four and he the big brother a mere five years old. In my minds ear I can hear the sound of the leaves crackling while the smell of the damp earth permeates my nostrils. As a child there were no cares only the adventures that and old farm could give. My best friend, my brother, took me on all his adventures as we plotted together what the moments of time should hold. I can see us in our flannel-lined dungarees, me with my long brown braids and he with his short brown hair with a cowlick right at his forehead.