48/365
it feels like the summer days are slowly winding down. some nights there is the faint hint of a chill in the air. doors and windows have been thrown open once more as the scorching heat of this season, for me the hardest season of the year, fades. once again the neighbourhood has come alive with joggers, cyclists, dog walkers & children. the kids on our street hang outside in the evenings playing handball, street tennis & riding their bikes up and down. it's a memory i carry from my childhood. the neighbourhood kids, all playing together out on the streeet. we'd stick pieces of cardboard in our bike spokes with pegs to get a 'cool' {ha} flap, flap, flap sound as we rode around the block, then bemoan being dragged in for tea by our mums, only to do it all again the next day. it's funny the little things we remember from childhood. the sap from the wattle tree in our drive that i'd pretend was bubble gum {tasted disgusting}. the orange & black bull ants in the front yard that made walking around in bare feet difficult. our funny little metal letter box that i could bend over & watch recoil time & time again {much to my mum's aggravation}. swinging around & around on the end of the hills hoist { something that also didn't impress my mum}. the patch of feverfew that grew by our back porch. the mottled green of the pittosporum hedge that we always took our family photos in front of. the pattern on my bedroom curtains. the sound of the washing machine late at night as i lay in bed. the way i'd pretend i'd washed myself when mum came in to check on me in the bath { she sooo would have known, i know that, now that i'm a mama}. the way she could hear my sister & me whispering from the loungeroom through closed doors. digging in the back garden for grey puss's bones. the old house across the road with an overgrown garden that we swore a witch lived in. the mornings it snowed & we'd skate in our school shoes on the driveway. the night police lights flashed outside when the guy across the road could take no more of life. a pale yellow pair of terry towelling shorts {i loved those shorts}. the creek at the end of our street and the mad dash to get our tennis balls before they'd roll all the way down there. the atutmn colours of the liquid amber in our back garden....little things that make up the patchwork memory of childhood. i wonder what memories zahra will have when she grows up.
