HAVEN

As I enter the outside world, I embrace the brash, cold wind like a slap on my cheek and huddle myself deeper into my coat hood. I teeter down the three steps onto the sidewalk with an eventual thud of my boots, ecstatic at the fresh blanket of snow and the crunch never to be a first again.

I’m distracted briefly by the sudden whoosh of an airplane and see the white, fluffy engraved line slicing the sky in half, soon to fade away.

As I continue, my strides are slow and purposeful as I pass through the whiteness in my concrete neighborhood. My feet are warmly wrapped as I press on so many twigs, and I wonder that not so long ago they were high up in the sky protected by healthy, green leaves.

As I turn the final corner, the solitude is interrupted by the continuous excavating of a spade into the hard ground by a city workman. Plain to see, his determination is etched on his face expressing his eagerness to complete his mission and exit this harsh coldness.

The waft of freshly dug up soil and the sight of the mounds constructed like black pyramids make me smirk, and suddenly I was transported to the “back” garden in our London childhood home. The vision is so clear. It is like an old film projector playing and the images are there right in front of me and for all to see.

I had rushed home from school leaving my school bag, lunch paraphernalia and siblings in the living room to be in the sunshine, where I thought every seven-year-old should be. This rectangular plot of growth and activity was my haven.

With my back arched against the splintered and faded fence, I promptly shifted my bottom down into position proportionately between my father’s prized tomato plants. With legs astride and in my not-so-pretty summer dress, I treasured this ‘V’ space in front of me. With such concentration, I commenced the task of digging, squeezing, kneading, and then crumbling through my fingers the dark breadcrumbs to the texture that I required, whilst inhaling the deeply lavish, chocolatey smell.

I would often whisper to myself, “I’m having the bestest time in the whole wide world”. And if that wasn’t enough, I screeched with glee on seeing an army of ants scurrying away and the discovery of a fat, wriggling worm, which I skirted around, being extra careful not to harm it.

Reluctantly and abruptly, this joy ended as I heard my mother excitedly shout out the all clear for me to come in for my birthday party. I clambered up off the ground, rubbing into my dress the evidence of my favorite pastime and ran towards my mother.

As I come to life from my reverie and trudge up the steps to home again, I smile inwardly and laugh outwardly at the vision of my mother’s shocked face.

Jan M.

March 2019