A place from your past or childhood, one that you’re fond of, is destroyed. Write it a memorial.
When I was a very young child, playing soldiers and Indians or outlaw was a way to pass the time. My father was a building construction teacher at the local high school and also a master carpenter, so he built us our very own play fort. It was built out of wood with stockade fencing. It had an interior “parade ground,” a ladder to climb to a walk way where we could patrol the perimeter of the fort, and a tower where we could conceal ourselves and watch for Indian spys or outlaws.
My brother and sister and I spent many happy hours in our fort in the woods near our house. We would take a picnic lunch to the fort and spend most of the day in the fort, patrolling the perimeter and using binoculars to watch for “the bad guys.” We would muster with our rifles when “the bad guys” would attack and we would fight them off. Often our friends Bruce and Allison from down the street would come and play with us and it would be like we really had an army in our little fort.
We had ranks for my brother, sister and me, conferred upon us by our neighbor who was disabled in the Great War (World War I). My brother was Sargent, I was Corporal, and my little sister was Private. One of our favorite television shows was F-Troop, and I imagined we were much smarter than those people on that show. We were more like the people on Rin-Tin-Tin, the show about a boy who lived in a fort with his dog.
We eventually grew too big for the fort. There came the day when we were too big to fit into the tower. And we moved on to other games, to baseball and play houses and ice-skating and hockey rinks and bicycles. But I will never forget our fort in the woods.