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“I believe it was the very peculiarity of the name, and the idea of something mystic and dreamy connected with it, that first led me, in my boyish ramblings, into Sleepy Hollow. The character of the valley seemed to answer to the name; the slumber of past ages apparently reigned over it; it had not awakened to the stir of improvement, which had put all the rest of the world in a bustle.”
-Washington Irving
The secret sanctuary in which he called his own; Sleepy Hallow.
Where magic happens and stories begin, if only it were the case for me.
Through the eyes of a child all is new, all is exciting, interesting . . . innocent.
"I want to learn. All I can in this world." As does every child, every human.
Playful sunrays peeking through the bright green leaves of the many poplar trees, planted in a row. I was only four, maybe five at the time.
My father when he could, would take me and my brother to the playground. There were many in the neighborhood, and he would take us to a different one each time. On the usual route; on the sidewalk, the shadows of leaves dancing in the sunlight.
Summer or autumn I cannot remember. On the right of the sidewalk were houses, dating back sometime ago, to the left poplar trees in a row.
A decorative windmill at the turning point, where we would walk into an alleyway. My father pointed out that where he came from there were a lot of windmills, I and my brother longed to see a real one, in wonder and awe.
We would walk onto another path which crossed an alley way, and continue forward. That lead to another small neighborhood, a cal-de-sac.
Within the cal-da-sac is a wide opening leading to a small park. So hidden yet so exposed.
A large area surrounded by grass and trees, poplar and pine. To the left and right the edge of grass would end at a fence, a peg then another peg connected by metal wire. On the other side of the fence was an alley way. A pathway made of red dust and stone, led to the small playground.
After all these years it remained the same, the same swing, same slide, the same everything. My favourite thing to do was to go on the swing and dad pushing me. I and my brother took turns. Everyday it was the same, innocent play.
Until one day . . .
"Daddy come here!"
"What is it?" he asked me and my brother, we crouched under a pine tree, a few inches away from a soiled object.
"What's wrong with it?" my brother asked. Father came closer, nodded then told us to get out from under the tree.
"What's wrong with it?" my brother asked again. I and my brother were concerned about the bird we had found under the tree. But it didn't move.
"It's dead." Father would say,
"Dead?" I and my brother would question.
"What's dead daddy?" I asked,
"It's when something dies." He said, though I was only a small child yet I knew the word "die." Such a word a child shouldn’t know. But innocence fades, so does protection, after all "I want to learn, all I can in this world."
"Did the bird go to heaven, daddy?" My father said nothing at first then said it did.
We left right away after he answered.
That was almost 10 years ago, maybe more maybe less.
As me and my brother grew older, we lost interest in learning all that we could, we got bored with playgrounds. And the innocence faded.
One day me and a friend decided to walk around, it was lunch time. It was just the two of us, him and I. My brother was sick that day.
Me and him weren't close, but we had no one else to be with. We were listening to his iPod, walking along. We walked on the grass, beside him was another fence made of pegs and metal wire, beyond the fence was a wide-open area of grass. A recreational area, I guess it could be called. Though no one really visited it. I who was on the left was walking on the road.
Reaching the end of the field, not saying a word. Both him and I starred at the ground, going through the song lyrics in our head.
Normally when one stairs at the ground, you see bugs, dirt, grass. This time was different. What we saw was a beheaded bird. It makes one wonder how it was like that? A cat maybe?
Its head lay at its side, its chest ripped out and bloody, the bird’s head had a few organs connected to it. We both glanced at each other and walked around the poor thing.
Oddly that day I recalled Sleepy Hallow, despite its historical significance. Me and my brother called it that, saying it described a safe haven as the name intended. That day I decided to visit Sleepy Hallow.
I took a different bus then I normally would take, since it let off near the Hallow. I crossed the street, heading towards the gate and pathway that connected with the alley way.
The windmill was long gone, as were the former residence. The leaves of trees dead. The sun covered by the clouds, the perfect dreary winter landscape. I followed the path into the cal-de-sac. I stood at the entrance of Sleepy Hallow, taking it all in. I crossed the sidewalk that connected the road with the red pathway.
Upon going further into the dead Hallow, starring at the ground. Did I come across a bird. Another bird that also was a bloody mess, beheaded organs attached to his head. Ripped out chest.
I starred at the bird in shock and continued forward. Everything the same, the colours of the park equipment faded and rusted. I walked over to the swing, tossed my backpack aside and began to swing. A slight breeze blew. I swung till I could swing no more, finally stopping I noticed the same pine tree, where me and my brother found the bird. I smile at it sadly.
I take one last look at the Hallow, recalling the lingering memories, that suddenly came alive in a ghostly reminisces. I walked to the edge of the Hallow. Its exit was the same as its entrance. I sighed then walked forward. Leaving the place of where I learned the word "death." If possible before death were to claim me, would I visit the Hallow once more.
†IŋЙǿςєÑŧ§o®яởω†
