Back then, the days seemed to stretch on forever. It was like the sun was always shining, and even when it was dark you could still feel its heat emanating from the concrete and wood and sand under your bare feet. Back then, it didn’t matter if you were late or early or on time; time was a melty thing, and everyone was always around anyway. Remember all those days we spent at the pier, running towards the end of it leaving pieces of ourselves behind along the way (thongs, shorts, singlets), (or perhaps we were becoming more ourselves by shedding them), and leaping off the edge into the cool, grey-blue lake that stretched out to the forest we could never quite swim to? Remember how we’d climb up again and sit, dripping, the shape of our bums and hands soaking into the wood beneath us, our toes skimming the surface of the water? Remember how we’d talk about the kids at school, and our brothers and sisters, and our parents, and how when we grew up we wanted nothing else but to just keep on being here? Together?
The sun was soft in the evenings, soothing our pink skin. All the colours blended into shades of grey and yellow.
Back then. ‘Back then’ is what I dream of when I miss you, and I miss summer, and I long for the chance to run and jump, knowing there is no other place to be but right here, and that the cool, grey-blue water will always catch me.
[a little writing exercise inspired by the cover of Cloudstreet by Tim Winton]