I knew grass and mud and brick and a thick hand,
but not trees or the sea and sand
until the age of three, one summer
decamping with my mum to a hut
where she, with her ant-like waist
and an aunt in tow, would frolic menless,
in snazzy frocks, and dance to the wireless, tunes
I could still hear down by the sea, clambering rocks.

And just so much air. Everywhere.

I cartwheeled forever on new-cut grass.
Instinctively, breezing temporarily.
Airily whizzing in a sunlit now, legs lashed
in cooling dew, I could freely drift
along the sea-shore, sun-splashed
And as the wind rushed by on
eyes squinted star-bright
I would run and run and run, the only curfew night.


2 thoughts on “Sunrunning

  1. Oh, Brian, I felt this – every moment of that wonderful freedom, for both child and Mum. No wonder I look forward to receiving notice of your posts. You always take me there.
    Thank you.

    • Good to see you, Cindy. And thank you for the above. It’s these little snapshots of the dim and distant past that I’m increasingly drawn to illumine of late. It cheers me no end that it struck a chord with you. šŸ™‚

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