Walking through his forest of green grain slingshot trees with boughs stretching out in victory signs he was a young boy again.
Memories bustled around his subconscious bursting back to that ten year old boy who was more likely to grin about a mishap than worry or sook.
He remembered a lot about his childhood.
He remembered very little about his childhood.
The polarity of this was neither an abandonment or argument, his life was consoled by the very fact some things remained hidden and some things spoke loudly to him.
Simply for him there was one upside of that fine line and another hidden thinner underside.
There were tiled scenes in his unconscious mind, dialogued and tailored, metered with pin pricks of quieter voices. Voices in deep shadows that hid what was between.
The day was fading into evening and as the sun took the warmth of the day away a scent hued the air.
He looked up and the light seemed brighter than it should have been, or was that the tip of some uneven feeling touching his thoughts?
He stood still.
A memory flinched and stung a pitch of dark tone, a face hung with eyes that did not blink in his mind.
His legs were running before he gave them command…..© K S Hardy 2010