Childhood Senses

The Childhood Senses.


As I keep glancing fruitlessly through the somewhat blank pages of my second year notepads, I keep flitting back to the work from the first year, the work I adored.

I smelt the freshly cut grass, mingled with the ever clear scent of fruity strawberries, that floated absent mindedly on the thick summer air. I was outside, I forget how old i was, rubbing my hands through the newly sharpened grass. Vividly I remember the smell of warm plastic that oozed itself off that garden furniture, basking in the sun. such a thick captivating air. A delight to the senses of any young boy. Remembering those insects that crawled and creeped towards my glass of milkshake, previously spilled, still makes me cringe and run screaming inside. I must act older, such things should not affect me still! Be a man, for gods sake!

I wished to be like my dad, big and strong, thrusting the mower around the garden, him always leading, the dance always the same. The machine obeying willingly. I wished I was that strong. So innocent was I, to be waited on! I felt like a king, the world my palace. Perhaps its naïve upon reflection, but what young boy isn’t arrogant? As they sit in their grass fortress’s, smiling wildly at the sun, bombarding invisible enemies with grass and always winning. Bathing in that pure glow of youth, believing they they own the world, that they can be anything, they they are everything they wish to be. We obtain what we desire and are amused by such trivial things, as we sit there..as I sat there..upon my throne of happiness. Day after day, through that endless summer, each day blending into one as I try to recall and remember those memories. Sometimes I wish I could return to those days, when everything was so simple, when I knew not the worries of life! when I could be content with such trivial things as grass, and cardboard boxes. When my favourite words included “why?” and “i want that”..when if I needed something all I had to do was cry and throw a tantrum and the object, the toy, the object of my desire, became mine. Mine until i got bored.