Today was a good day.
It was one of those days when the sun poured liquid gold and painted the tops of buildings yellow. I sat outside my room watching how sunshine streamed through leaves, making them transparent, almost. And it reminded me of the days I used to spend at my aunt’s house. I was ten years old, and in heaven.
She had one of those old fashioned wrought iron gates – it swung open to a red brick path. I’d walk to the left, jumping three steps down to the garden. There was an old fashioned orange orchard tucked away in the corner. This was the place I sat in for hours on end, dreaming my child’s dreams. Tree bark felt jagged and smelt musky sour. To this day when I think of that orchard, I smell dusty orange blooms and wild grass.
To the right was a tiny pond. Lotus grew in a flaming pink riot all across the surface. I recall trying to muster up the courage to reach for a mass of glistening leaves and faltering. I knew if I caused ripples, I’d find myself staring into a pair of black eyes – one of the many black horned toads that lived just under would pop up. Standing on the bank was a challenge. Moss green algae caused many near-falls and squeaky yelps.
I was afraid of drowning.
There was a secret path that I believed only I knew of. Grape vines grew rampant on the abandoned white trellis that lay in that grassy patch. I used to pretend it was my home: I lived in a mad fairy world; it was intoxicating and made me heady. Dark green vines intertwined to make fancy carpets for my bedroom floor, leaves coiled and made intricate tapestries, thicket bursting with fruit made windows, and trailing creepers like serpents threaded their way from under my front door.
I’ve never had that feeling of fullness, of being there wholly.
Today, was a good day.