The Forest

My most vivid childhood memory is centered around the little forest located in front of my recently built apartment complex. Beside the building, there was an old creaky metal gate with speckles of orange rust compiled over the years. The heavy bricked wall encircled the community. Surrounding the area is acres and acres of empty grass land with patches of dark brown soil that seemed like the perfect home for agricultural crops.

Midst of them all is the little forest that used to be my friends’ and my favorite meeting spot. It was about the size of one block, big enough for exploring yet not so big that we could get lost. With no one to take care of it, the floor of the forest is mostly coated with weeds of all sorts along with open dirt grounds. The trees were a little taller than one classroom wall and when the sun is out, rays of light would seep between the leaves hitting the ground. Almost every summer afternoon, the cemented road in front of the little forest would be our gathering spot. I specifically remember the time when our group of three went exploring into the forest. I climbed up into one of the thick branches near the edge of the forest. I was sitting at the top and swing my legs in the open air when suddenly I lost grip and slipped off the branch. The hard ground hit my right shoulder and I strained my clavicle. After a visit to the doctor’s office and several weeks of recovery period, I never wanted to climb another tree again.