My Roxaboxen has changed. I've only had it for about two months and it has changed. I can't really complain. After all it really isn't "mine". I just thought it was. It may just have become someone else's Roxaboxen. You see, I first figured out that it had changed when I saw scooters and bikes parked along side the road and no kids around to be seen. The next clue was when a mother driving a big SUV came bumping over the unpaved road where only construction vehicles travel. She stopped, yelled and then was seen herding about three eight and nine year old boys up from Roxaboxen. I know she had no idea that she had just routed them from this magical place. She was only concerned that there was a pond there and the boys were playing too close with no supervision. As a mother of a grown "boy", I can understand her concern. Still, it WAS Roxaboxen. Now, in place of my imaginary house with the big patio door overlooking the pond and the doorway leading out into the woods, there are many pieces of plywood standing on end. These have become paintball targets. This Roxaboxen is much different from mine. I secretly am glad, however, that these boys have discovered it and are using it to spend the last of their summer days. Memories are made in so many different ways!