We would wake early and meet by the Oak. I remember waiting for my two companions in the quiet mist, blowing breath into my hands to keep warm. The sun barely up, the morning light painting the world soft shades of grey and green. It always seemed important to get an early start. After all this was no Sunday stroll we were going on. No indeed, this was a great adventure and we would need ever hour of the day.

We had made lunch the night before, all neatly packed in preparation. Adventuring is hungry work after all. We would need plenty of water too-- dehydration was likely to be a factor. And we would need protection against the perils of the wilderness. We had discussed in length the night before our strategies for dealing with wild animals; rabid dogs, mad bulls, hawks that swoop for your eyes, diseased rabbits that can kill you with their spit. So we equipped ourselves accordingly.

We had our pen knives, of course, what country boy leaves home with out that. And we had our trusty sticks. Sticks we found using a rigorous testing method, only the strongest most durable passed the grade and earned the title of 'trusty'. And so prepared for every eventuality we would head out into the country side. We would pick a land mark, a distant water tower or a far off forest sticking out on the horizon, or we'd simply find a river and follow it. We had no goal, no destination, that wasn't the point. The point was adventure.

We'd track through the fields we knew, cutting through brush and ditch, jumping wall and fence until eventually, we were out in it. The wild lands. The unknown, each new field another milestone in our young lives. Another mile further away from home. We'd carve our mark into trees as we passed-- just in case we lost our way. We'd judge the time by looking at the sun, though what time it really was, was any ones guess. Stopping for lunch in fallen down castle, we'd cut the chunks out of our apples with our knives, eat them like cow boys, like men, our trusty sticks tied to our backs with bailing twine. We'd suppose about the castle. We'd suppose about the past, about the future. None of us knowing how sad the world could be. How truly precious it is to be young and innocent.

The trials of the day would wear on us, and we would eventually tire and one of us would say, "Well, gang, I think we've gone far enough," and looking at the sun they'd say "Looks to be about five twenty three, we should get back while it's still light."

And back we'd head through green pastures and damp woods. Fording streams and rivers, climb up hills and slide down slopes. Through golden fields of barely and wheat, the sun setting, the sky a deep red. And the day's toil resting well on our young shoulders. We'd walk through this beautiful country without even blinking. Did we know just how lucky we were then? To have such a moment in time? I think somewhere deep down we did. I think some how we knew that our adventuring days were numbered, and deep down we knew their value.

And when we got home, well after dark, we'd exaggerate to our parents about how far we'd gone, about rabid dog's and mad bulls, about farmers with shot guns, about secret castles and hidden treasures. And when the time came for bed we'd sleep. A deep content slumber, full of Dreams. Full of adventure.