Friday, 9 October 2015

The Red Flowers

When I was a little girl we had a huge 10 acre field behind our house. I spent a lot of my childhood there. It was wonderful. I would get up in the morning, at the break of dawn, (which my daughter now does, and it drives me crazy, just like, I am sure, it did my own mother! ) and I would venture out into my very own private world.

It consisted of high grass, a creek, huge gum trees, pine trees to climb and native shrubs, a big rock pile which usually had a cubby built within its formation, big logs and two ex racing horses, who became pretend unicorns that came from the land beyond the rainbow. 

And in spring the entire field was covered in these red, white and occasional burgundy flowers.
 I absolutely love them. They always make me feel like home. 

The paddock is gone now. It was transformed into a housing estate, at a time when I was moving from child into adult. It somehow felt like the passage of youth. I spent many days cursing that big yellow bulldozer, and crying about my childhood, ending so abruptly and in such a cruel way. That my playground, of childhood dreams and fantasies, of fairyland, flying kites whilst lying in waist high grass, making tunnels and creating adventures with the neighbourhood children. Of sneaking out at night, while the rest of the world was sleeping, to lay in the grass, feeling the soft wind blowing, the gentle warmth of darkness and stare up at the universe, overwhelmed with the feeling of love for the earth. It used to fill my soul and make me shed tears of wonderment and joy, and it was coming to an end.

That is why I love them so much. The memories of my childhood. So rich, colourful and bright.  Never, ever forgotten.

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