I was lucky to be brought up in Small Town, South Africa, in the '70's and 80's. It was, for a child, idyllic. I am lucky to have parents who loved, and love me, an older sister who I adored despite ferocious sibling hair pulling and fighting (she broke a brush throwing it at me once, thank god it missed me and hit the cupboard behind... My pudgy little nose might've been pudgy, and skew!) Four years difference is a lot when you're 11 (and want to wear the same as her) and she's 15 (there's NO way I'm being seen in public with my little sister, let alone in matching outfits.)
I spent my days outside, in the sunshine, barefoot. Riding bikes, swinging in the park, running wildly, having snail races, rearing chickens, you know... childhood stuff. And, now, in my mind, that was a time of eternal and enormous blue skies. Like the one today (thus my rambling post.) It is the blue of a child's painting, and the air is so still that it feels as if, if you blew a feather into the air, it would just stay there, floating. It would be a white one, from an angel's wing.
I would spend hours, as a child, lying on my back on the grass staring into this same blue sky (slightly younger, and slightly more north), watching clouds, seeing shapes, dreaming of the places I'd explore, the things I'd do, the loves I would have. How I wish I'd written those childhood dreams down.
I am going to reminisce about childhood days and keep my other thoughts separate for now. That sad elephant is still sitting, heart-breakingly in the corner, wishing, hoping, fervently willing it to turn out that love wins and everybody gets to be happy. And by that, the elephant really means everybody. Because, ultimately, doesn't everybody deserve to be happy, to love, and be loved?
1 day ago