I’m racing down the hill on my bicycle, the wind stealing the whistle on my lips and the dusk bug-shower ricocheting off my exposed skin like some bizarre little beauty treatment. I’m not wearing ‘proper’ shoes… Or a helmet. I’m on a country road gliding past field after field of farmland, the smell of agriculture and farm animals slightly cloying in my nose. I’m 10. No, wait, I’m 27. Whoops, no I’m definitely ten…. Hmmm… You’re kidding me?! All the paper-work says I’m really and truly twenty-seven?! Twenty-seven it is then. Today. For now.
This is going to keep happening isn’t it? There are going to be moments when I’m 40, 70, the week before I die, when time disappears. Moments when time buckles and my eternal child reappears.
I like her.
She’s more than a collage of memories, she’s a feeling. She is bold and adventurous and connected to nature. She is vital and free in her body, voracious of mind and creativity. She is curious, knowing and unknowing, watching and learning. She is playful. Left to her own devices, she is a walking testament to the powers of ingenuity and liberation. She is perfect childlike energy and wonder, tempered with just enough life experience and understanding to make things interesting.
I like her. I like her a lot. I’m delighted she still visits me. I’m delighted that, in sweet, sweet moments, I am still her.