The Journey.
I think that it is true enough to say that certain parts of life seem mundane, until through the passing of years, recollections can cast a new vibrancy over them. All of a sudden and those same previously all but easily accepted memories can be a pleasure to share with others. One such occurrence took place, many years ago.
A small boy and his mother were staying at his grandparent’s place, deep in the countryside. The day before, some friends had offered to take the small boy out for a ramble in the nearby fields. On returning the young boy was keen to show his mother all the delights of the previous trip.
It was just after midday and the sun beamed down. The mother enquired how far was this place? Not far, replied the eager boy, impatient to be off on his quest. They walked along the narrow winding lane and heard the constant sound of the birds chirping and calling. The minutes began to tick by as they crossed a bridge over a small stream. Then the little boy excitedly proclaimed that this was the start of the way.
The mother had a slight feeling of anxiety concerning how far the place actually was and would they lose their way in even trying to find it.
Once they had left the lane and crossed a field that clearly had been home for some cattle as there laid about scattered cow pats, haphazardly strewn across the field. Then, there were further fences and another field. The mother began to be more alarmed and asked if should they be walking there. The little boy insisted that they were almost there and to prove his point sprinted across a very narrow piece of wood bridging a deep gully filled with gurgling water. The mother had a problem, although frightened of crossing the narrow strip of wood, her fear of being separated from her son drove her on to join him on the other side.
There was a dense hedge and beyond a cluster of trees, but beyond that and in the centre was the goal of their journey. The area was in shade and carpeted by thousands of round spiky green balls. Some of them were split open and empty, others were split but still contained the brown and red horse chestnuts. Eagerly the young boy started collecting the horse chestnuts, until every pocket and inside his clothes, were stuffed to overflowing. The mother joined in the collecting and together they began the return journey.
This time navigating the slippery narrow wood was even more terrifying on the return journey but safely on the other side, the next daunting task began.
The mother was completely at a loss as to recall which field they had traversed and hopefully trailed behind the little boy’s lead. The young boy had set a brisk pace and the distance between them was increasing. A little alarmed the mother called out to slow down. The boy replied we have to keep moving before the light completely goes. Indeed shadows were already emerging, the Sun had dipped on the horizon and turned a dark orange.
Eventually they came to the more familiar lane and thankfully home. That night siting in front of the open fire some of the horse chestnuts were roasted and the whole room was filled with the aroma of hot horse chestnuts. Burnt fingers were a small price to pay for that delicious taste of daring and momentary childhood.
Even a simple stroll into the past can bring about all those feelings of a once lived moment, an experience of an everyday, that might have a new found significance.
A small boy and his mother were staying at his grandparent’s place, deep in the countryside. The day before, some friends had offered to take the small boy out for a ramble in the nearby fields. On returning the young boy was keen to show his mother all the delights of the previous trip.
It was just after midday and the sun beamed down. The mother enquired how far was this place? Not far, replied the eager boy, impatient to be off on his quest. They walked along the narrow winding lane and heard the constant sound of the birds chirping and calling. The minutes began to tick by as they crossed a bridge over a small stream. Then the little boy excitedly proclaimed that this was the start of the way.
The mother had a slight feeling of anxiety concerning how far the place actually was and would they lose their way in even trying to find it.
Once they had left the lane and crossed a field that clearly had been home for some cattle as there laid about scattered cow pats, haphazardly strewn across the field. Then, there were further fences and another field. The mother began to be more alarmed and asked if should they be walking there. The little boy insisted that they were almost there and to prove his point sprinted across a very narrow piece of wood bridging a deep gully filled with gurgling water. The mother had a problem, although frightened of crossing the narrow strip of wood, her fear of being separated from her son drove her on to join him on the other side.
There was a dense hedge and beyond a cluster of trees, but beyond that and in the centre was the goal of their journey. The area was in shade and carpeted by thousands of round spiky green balls. Some of them were split open and empty, others were split but still contained the brown and red horse chestnuts. Eagerly the young boy started collecting the horse chestnuts, until every pocket and inside his clothes, were stuffed to overflowing. The mother joined in the collecting and together they began the return journey.
This time navigating the slippery narrow wood was even more terrifying on the return journey but safely on the other side, the next daunting task began.
The mother was completely at a loss as to recall which field they had traversed and hopefully trailed behind the little boy’s lead. The young boy had set a brisk pace and the distance between them was increasing. A little alarmed the mother called out to slow down. The boy replied we have to keep moving before the light completely goes. Indeed shadows were already emerging, the Sun had dipped on the horizon and turned a dark orange.
Eventually they came to the more familiar lane and thankfully home. That night siting in front of the open fire some of the horse chestnuts were roasted and the whole room was filled with the aroma of hot horse chestnuts. Burnt fingers were a small price to pay for that delicious taste of daring and momentary childhood.
Even a simple stroll into the past can bring about all those feelings of a once lived moment, an experience of an everyday, that might have a new found significance.
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