Memories of Dust and Sun

Huge grey clouds smothered suburbia and hung close to the ground like clumps of dirty wet cotton wool, as I looked out the window that day. Grey rain filtered through the chilled air and dripped down my window, wetly licking paths through the grimy dirt that covered its surface.

And then, as if from nowhere, a dusty memory of brown sand and sun and innocence gently drip… drip… dripped into my mind, and carried me far, far away, a long time ago…


Lazily we wandered along, and dragging our bare feet through the warm, brown sand that covered the earth, felt the warmth of the sun stroking our cheeks. The sun sparkled high above us that day, hanging brightly in the brilliant blue sky, which was as empty as a desert.

The dusty sand was beautifully warm, and gently lapped all around our little brown feet, shimmering hazily. On the sides of the dirt track little tufts of yellow grass emerged shyly from earth, smiling crookedly.

Me and the other little child chatted softly as we strolled. We chatted about this and that, and nothing much, and often laughed, the sound tinkling gently, twirling away with the soft, warm wind.

And on either side of us stretched tall, silvery brown trees, leaves crackling when the wind stirred, looking down on us, benevolent, the sun’s golden light sparkling through the slender boughs, and winking and glittering through the leaves.

Yawning we reclined happily in the shade, the sand warm even here, and sighing stared at the dazzling blue sky hanging far, far away, smooth as an eggshell…



         And then it’s gone. Popped like a glistening bubble.

I turn my head towards the window, and the deathly grey is still there. Down on the pavement below, a man walks his dog, his clothes dreary and lifeless, damp and soggy in the drizzle. The lead is slack, the dog lethargic, and they walk onwards.