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You Are My Happiness: Where The Sycamore Grew

The document is a reflection on returning to a childhood home after many years. It describes feeling both distant from and familiar with the small yellow house where the author spent their early years. Memories of growing up there with their parents and children rush back, from Christmas trees to anniversaries, as well as the grief of losing their mother. Though the area has changed with new homes and disappearing orchards, the house remains largely the same, bringing comfort and happiness to the author in revisiting their past.

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Jean Cristine Flores Ancog
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70 views1 page

You Are My Happiness: Where The Sycamore Grew

The document is a reflection on returning to a childhood home after many years. It describes feeling both distant from and familiar with the small yellow house where the author spent their early years. Memories of growing up there with their parents and children rush back, from Christmas trees to anniversaries, as well as the grief of losing their mother. Though the area has changed with new homes and disappearing orchards, the house remains largely the same, bringing comfort and happiness to the author in revisiting their past.

Uploaded by

Jean Cristine Flores Ancog
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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You are my happiness in front of this house that lies at the bend

at the end of the road, where the sycamore grew...


Happiness is in seeing a smile on your face.
As sudden as wind, thirty years fades away, lost in

the moment of this crisp autumn da


No one can replace what is true.
And quickly alive, memories rise, becoming again

Sunshine radiates within, the springtime of lives.....

I am so enamored by you. ...our first Christmas trees,..and first anniversaries...

To feel your beauty in all of its forms. ...a place where I cried long into the night, the child

To not have to shelter my heart from harm. in me grieving when mother had died.. ..then long,

My love for you, it is one of a kind. starry nights, lost in the moonlight

Happiness is in feeling your arms wrap around mine. counting my blessings, and holding my babies

Each time, time stands still.

Pure happiness washes away any pain. Yes....it is all captured there, in the small yellow

The feeling rushes through my veins. house

For a moment in time,

I feel once again. It's funny, I know, but I'm glad they have kept the

Happy in knowing you will never walk away. yellow...

When life gets hard I know you will stay. And it still wears the trace of sun, and crisp-white

Faith and love permit, where sadness once thrived. shutters...

All because you are a constant in my life.


The little yellow house, with a flagstone pathway
Where The Sycamore GrewThe sun-yellow house
that we laid
seems smaller, somehow that sits beyond the bend, where the old sycamore
grew...

seeing it now, with much older eyes...

The street seems narrower, the trees are taller..

Where once open fields spanned both sides of the

road

they are building new homes, and fences have

bloomed

The neighboring orchards have all but disappeared

But somehow we knew the house would still be

there....

Strangely distant, ...yet, still much is the same

There's an unfamiliar red tricycle, and a skateboard

that leans

along the smooth flagstone stones that wind to the

door

A path that we laid on a hot summer day...

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