Tea and Park and Me At Eight

A few weeks ago I soaked up the sunny warmth in a park that was my childhood stomping ground.  With a cup of roobis tea in my hand, a book to flick through and be inspired by, I take in, in its entirety, my views of Acton Park (W3, London). I am taken back in time to twenty years ago and I am amazed at how just being here with its sights and smells unlocks files of memories.

This park has a special place in my heart and I can't help but feel a love connection, a type of home sickness that can be described as time sickness. The long summer days spent here when the days just dragged on and on. The soon-to-be-faded photos in 80's colour that sleep in albums creased by too many page turns. The change I have seen over the years with the various landscapes, the removal of dangerous old skool playground equipment for something brighter and new, and the different people that breeze through eventually making Acton their home. 

I miss my childhood years and strangely wish I could relive a day or two; savouring the moment and pushing a new burst of life into a stale memory. I often think about the things I would change about my childhood and there isn't really anything. My childhood made me the person I am today and that isn't one thing I would not want to change. Below is the poem I wrote on this sunny warm day.

I love you Acton Park and I love the childhood memories you bring...

At eight 

consumed in the world of childhood memory
flash backs

I sit quietly and patiently letting them be
Like breathing for the very first time
It's different and seems new this time round
I notice things I haven't seen or felt before
the patterns that gracefully embrace my dress
my socks they are odd, slightly, white knee highs
and I thought I came here with another friend
I had vaguely pictured blond hair not auburn brown

I see me at eight running around 

waving laughing plaits galore dancing smiling in all directions 

uncertain as to which way the hairstyle should flow 

I wave back and say 'Hi' and the eight year old me runs away embarrassed at the interaction
the swings is the place I should be

I sadly remember and yearn to relive my eight year old self
Just for a day or two
or those key moments that are reference points in my time line
I sit and smile to myself
happy with this place
peering into the grassy distance
I see me at eight fading silently away