OUTSIDE PLAYTIME ON SUMMER EVENINGS
I am sitting at the picnic table on the decking in the back garden, reading a book and drinking whisky; Charlotte has decided to come out too and has called on her mum to join us, James too.
I shift to the decaying bench at the top of the garden, under the birch tree, where the branches tickle my head. Wendy joins me; the children play a make-believe game involving Charlotte being a queen and James being a dog and orders and commands and twigs being waved in the air. The gnats are shining in the evening sun, the rooks swirl over the pine trees across the road, clattering with the racket they make.
Bored of their game, Wendy starts to play swing ball with them, the ball gets tangled in overhead branches, wraps itself round the pole, hits people on the head, that sort of thing but is accompanied by lots of laughter.
Charlotte gets bored again, plays on the swing that shifts slightly precariously on the damp grass, dangles upside down. Falls on the long grass.
They decide to play on the slide, get told off for being dangerous, walk up the slide itself instead of the steps. Both clutch each other at the top and nobody falls off.
Charlotte walks along the bank at the top of the garden where I have cut down the brambles and covered the soil with felt and bark. Shoots keep on pushing through, I keep chopping them down, they keep poking through again.
Wendy tells me to come and join everyone and to stop sitting there, drinking. I take some photos, balance the whisky glass on the fence post besides me.
The children find the dangling tire, with the sour water and leaves in its innards, decide to bang it as much as possible so that the water sprays out on the decking. Wendy tells them to stop; says that they will get soaked and the stagnant water will make their clothes dirty and stinky. They laugh and carry on heaving the tire back and forth.
We look in the small raised bed I made for the children, to see if any of the vegetable plants and strawberry plants are still living amongst all the weeds. Look at the slugs and the insect hotel which seems to have no insects in it.
The wind drifts to a stop and the air becomes still. The midges come out. We retreat to the house and telly. The crows settle in the nests across the road. The evening becomes quiet.
(Photo : Glenarn Gardens - May 2022)