A Fragment of the Imagination.

In his memory the front door is black, and despite the name stands at the side of the house, looking down on the path two steps distant. 

It is the path that catches his attention, running from the side gate at the back to the front gate at the front. 

All along one side is a head-high privet hedge, head-high being subjective; he is unable to see over it to the neighbour’s garden but his father looks down on it as he cuts. 

His father is as large and as scary as the front door....

 

 

It must be your birt(h)day

Think you must be thirty

A wonderful age

Turning the page 

Of what was before

And went past with a roar

But there’s a whole lot more

So much to look for

Surprises, adventures galore

So let’s start the celebration