I dreamed on Friday night. I dreamed of a place I miss.
From my birth until I was 17, I lived with my parents on a 40 acre property in the middle of nowhere. The house was built by my parents - they began prior to my older brother's birth, and continued with extensions and adjustments until after I moved away. It was truly a labour of love. The garden was even more so, getting most of my mother's attention. In the Spring her gardens were utterly breathtaking, filled with colour. It was easy to play my games of pretend in those gardens: I was Mary from The Secret Garden, I was a princess lost in a forest, I was anybody I wanted to be except myself!
A far cry from the well-tended gardens, further down the hill was The Bush. This is Australia, after all. In my youth nobody in the area put fences in the bush - they would only hinder the kangaroos. So I would wander freely on everybody's property and nobody minded. There was the creek I used to sit by, the rock my brother fell from and sprained his ankle, the crooked tree a childhood friend once got stuck in.
So many memories, so much love. My parents sold the property a year or two after I left. I can never go back there.