Galloping children
The ageing grey tenement released
it’s children on a fine day; bright, clear skies
and gentle breezes, one of those perfect days
in childhood, often recalled in fond
memories. A white van pulled up and
my father and uncle, finished their
workday early for once, simply scooped
up all who played on the street, bundled
them in the back where they bounced around
happy in the mystery of where they
might land. When their drive was done, released
once more, they looked around, wide eyed.
A stream rushed and tumbled over great
granite rocks while Scots pines soared so tall
and proud. Specks of white fluff moved slowly
across the green heights of the hills above.
“They’re sheep,” my father explained before
turning to his brother, adding, “children
need a gallop every now and then.”
