I remember when I was in year four at St Patricks Catholic School. My friends and I were blooming with imagination as we danced around the fairly large field one lunch time in early November. Pretending like we were a happy family, we built the walls of our home from the cut grass, seeming like each blade was trying to connect itself back to earth. Our homes would be large enough for our small bodies to crawl around on our knees like we were little kids, even though we still were young.
Our school field was boxed off by the class rooms at one end, a new subdivision to one side, a reserve at the bottom of a gully at the back of our field, and paddocks of rolling farmland on the other side. Fences separated us from the outside world, and even wandering over to have a sneak peep at the new trampoline in one of the neighbouring backyards, would mean having our name put in the book by a duty teacher.
After re-gathering our cut grass from behind the big tree the next interval, as a 'family', we began to re-build the structure of our home. It was then that a friend let out a screech, and her little legs carried her to the fence which separated us from the farmland. Three tall, heavy looking horses trotted their way around the lush pasture of their new paddock. Their hooves dug into the soil that hadn't been touched in months, since the last set of livestock had been taken away.
During class, our teacher led us up our school field as we giggled and chatted with excitement. Holding our partners hand we made our way towards these new creatures, curious as they had ventured their way closer to the fence than we had seen before. Our teacher, Mrs Clark held out a bucket to us, and reaching out hands inside, we brought out an orange carrot to share with these horses.
As the terms went by, these animals stayed nibbling on the long grass and I slowly stopped noticing their presence. It wasn't then, until the first day back at school, when I returned as a year seven, that I noticed my forgotten friends were absent. Instead of seeing the over grown grass, I saw bulldozers cutting away at the earth as they created the extension of a street, plotting in footpaths and street lamps.
Later on that year, my mother bought a section in the new extended area, and here I am eight years later remembering how those three horses shared this land. I never thought that next to where I made my grass house, a real house would be built and lived in by my family.
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Childhood Memories
Short StoryA short story describing a young childs memory as she begins to understand and take notice of changes and moves in her life. She soon discovers the power of Memories. True Story
