The Transition

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment that it happened.

I don’t know when I went from hiding between the clothes in a supermarket, or jumping over the cracks in the pavement which were really large crevices filled with gnashing crocodiles, to trawling miserably through the same shops that I used to make magical playgrounds out of.

When I went to the hillside park of my childhood the swings were old and rusty and too small, the playhouse desperately needed a lick of paint, the grass strewn with cigarette ends and bottle caps.

Where was the vibrant green hill of my childhood? Oh, it’s just a small mound with more sand than grass.

The glorious forest of trees I used to wander through, my head craned, fascinated by the canopy high high above, is just a tiny thicket, its ground peppered with unsavoury adult things that I now know the meaning of. I look down now, not up.

Walking at night was an enchanting adventure, all the shadows seemed blacker somehow, and moved when I walked. I felt so deliciously vulnerable, safe in the knowledge that my parents were with me so I was protected. Now it is all dark alleyways, and every stranger is a potential attacker, heart quickening as I hurry along, desperate to finish my business and get safely home.

Even my childhood home is different. My old reading nook is too small, it’s only an alcove that could fit a skinny child.

I don’t know when I stopped running everywhere. Running down hills because my legs would swoosh so fast and the scenery would blur, picking all the daisies, the climbing frame becoming a castle, turning strangers into evil sorcerers and playing hide and seek with them while they walked on, oblivious. Discovering secret tunnels full of prickly thorns, that were just gaps between thick holly bushes. Always, always always finding the most fun way to get to places, catching flashes of my parents as we darted through bushes and happening upon little trails through the trees. Walking past people’s front gardens and sniffing their roses, and dreaming of the colourful arrays they had nodding at passers by.

Now I hurry on by, maybe admiring the flowers a little, but never with the radiant reverence of my childhood.

The world is still the same, folks, but the colourful film of innocence has been lifted from my vision, and everything underneath is drab and grey.

When did this transition occur? For I don’t remember it. I remember vehemently saying that I would never be as boring as the adults, but here I am, walking not running, stepping not skipping.

I miss the magic so so sorely. I try to conjure it again sometimes, when I am playing with children. Try to see the lions approaching through the trees, the swings turning into swift hover boards, the daisies twirling their pretty white skirts tinged with purple like small fairies, but the images fizzle away so quickly.

Do you remember the moment you transitioned? Or is the moment elusive to you, a slow and painful death of the allurement of life.

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5 thoughts on “The Transition

  1. What a stirring post, Lenora. I think for me the transition was slower, and at times, to an equally gray place. I certainly don’t have the answers as my 20’s weren’t the happiest period of my life. In reflecting on my journey lately, I see my years as a peeling away of all the dull layers of certainty I painted over my young magical heart. I now believe in magic, I believe that there are mysteries to be wondered about, things I’ll never know. Anything is now possible and little is set in stone. The exploration is inside the heart and in creating relationships that bind the world, books that will outlive me, a legacy of love with my friends and family and the mysterious energy that pervades all life. You will find you way too. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • That is so beautiful, Diane. Thank you for this uplifting comment! It’s reassuring to hear that the magic is very much alive, it’s hard to see it sometimes. However, I can see that you manage to feed it through your writing, and I completely agree that the world is such a vast and majestic place that there is so much unknown, and so much more to find out 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I think you can get it back. Or rather….I don’t think you ‘lost’ the filter color. I think you have picked up that gray drab one along the way. Put it back down! We were walking downtown in a city we were visiting the other evening, and passed an adult male, who began to skip. It made me smile then. And I’m hoping you smile now. Knowing you can! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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