The Beginning of the Adventure

I reached, with grubby, jelly-covered hands, towards the shiny brass knob on the door. My hands smeared the glob all over the white-washed door and it clicked open, signaling my escape. I stepped out and into the tall grass that waved in the slight summer breeze. The smell of roses and sea salt wafted over the wildflower covered landscape. For a small five-year-old, this was an adventure. An adventure like the ones in the movies your parents watch and you peer around the corner to sneak a peek of. The main character would look gruff and tough and had a signature weapon strapped to their back. That same character could be you if you had the imagination of a child. So that's what I imagined. I was creeping through a grassy plain to seek a precious watering hole where the lions lapped regally. You could hear the animal calls echoing across the plain like the purr of a cat. Except, it was the purr of a cat. It was a cat sitting right beside me, rubbing against my side like velvet. I was snapped out of my little adventure, and so I settled for an average household adventure, hunting the frogs that hid in the tall wildflowers.