Marigold

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I think that’s what this is? It’s a photo I took a our six years ago. It makes me think of grassy banks and hot blue skies, fluttering butterflies and old black poplar trees in a line. Of little dusty paths with small oval pebbles that scatter as you walk. Of running through the fields around our school doing cross country running. Memories of the old rusty fences that enclosed the laying fields. The running track, the hockey fields, the tennis courts, the netball courts. When I think of my old comprehensive school I realise how lucky I was. Memories I haven’t delved into for forty years. I wouldn’t go back but it’s good to remember.

People

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The door stands in the way. But I can hear people outside, running along the pavement, downhill, then up. A couple of car doors slam. An engine starts, quietly. I want to look out, but the door is firmly locked. It’s late. I could look out of the window, but that means parting the curtains, giving the game away.

A little later…. All is calm again, the mad thunder of feet has receded, I heard my bin lid thud down, but I’m not going to look. Possibly an old beer can? It’s happened before.

I don’t really like living with my front door on the pavement. I wish we had a front garden. There is a garden at the side of our house,iit’s ours, full of trees and bushes. Local people dump beer cans and fag packets in our hedge. Life, and people, have been quieter lately. But if I was put on a desert island I would be OK.

I spoke too soon, cars (with people in) crashing down  their gears, rushing to get up the hill. Sometimes they seem to race each other.

If, and when the lockdown ends, I will have to get used to people again.