I miss those long afternoons that would drag on by the slow tick of the clock on top of the television and beyond the ticking and the black box, hung the afternoon sun tired from its mid day burn.
Horizontal on the couch, eyes faced out at the window, I would watch clouds making their way past, covering and uncovering the sun. The slow breeze coming in smelled of cool air.I was a child, feet up against the wall, grass marks on my faded jeans from rough play with my brothers, sweat drying salty on my lips, still catching my breath.
This is how my summers passed, playing “it” running and shrieking then collapsing and resting, cuts on our shins, blisters in our feet, smiling. We made stories to tell, do you remember when…
“When we were playing football and Patrick slipped and farted” …we would laugh for days after, God we had such simple banter, sitting in the study pretending to read, mum popping her head in whenever conversation grew loud. I miss those days.