My Sylvanian Love

When I was a child, I lived in a beautiful house in Philadelphia. the house was purchased in the 50's by my grand parents, and then purchased from them in the 80's by my parents. When I think of great times from my childhood, I always picture the house and our beautiful back yard which held a gorgeous Mimosa tree. I remember playing with my Sylvanians under this tree and having so much fun. The scent of Mimosa trees is probably one of the most beautiful scents I've ever smelled. My neighbor a few blocks down has a Mimosa tree, and I can not express in words how much I enjoy walking past it in the spring, when the flowers are in bloom. it truly brings back amazing memories and fills my heart with joy. I'm not sure why I chose to write an entry about this tree. for some reason when I walked passed the tree today, I pulled off a small branch with the flowers on it, and carried it down the street with me, smelling it and remembering such great times. I always knew that once I owned my own home, a Mimosa tree would have to be a part of our yard. I want my children to have the same sweet memories brought on by the scent of Mimosa trees in their future.

I recently drove past my old home. we haven't owned it in many years, and I was curious as to what it now looked like. When I saw the house and the yard, I was appalled by the condition it was in. the tree I once loved was gone. it was chopped down and all that remained was a sad stump. the rose garden next to it was nothing but a muddy section of dead and dried weeds. and the grass throughout the yard was dried and yellow. there was a foreclosure sign in the middle of the yard, to no surprise. I was disgusted how someone could buy that beautiful house and turn it into that. I pulled my phone out and quickly dialed the number on the sign and asked about the house. it was now for sale for only a shocking $45,000. I wanted nothing more than to go straight to the bank and get approved for a mortgage so I could buy it, and return it to the way it used to be; but I couldn't. the neighborhood was in just as bad condition as the house. by my feet were dirty needles and empty bags of drugs. I shook my head and returned to my car, where I drove home with my mind and memories crying. I wanted to find the person who did this and kill them. after about a week, the memory of the horrible condition the house was in faded, but I was still left with the wonderful memories of my childhood. as sad as it is, I guess it wouldn't make a difference if the house was still in the condition that my family had left it or not. all that matters is that it was beautiful while I was there, and that it is still beautiful in my mind.