24

 

 

 

 

24

 

 

Those early days at the petting zoos and the public gardens, the nature spots and caravan parks. I remember them. Those hours we spent in the picnic areas where the shade fell over us in heavy, dark dapples. I kind of miss them. Those times we bought sparkly ice cream floats and bright red hot dogs and gave ourselves hiccups from laughing between swallows. Sitting out on the grass or at the wooden benches. Under the trees or beneath the sky. By the fire areas, at the camping spots. The scents of cut grass and scorched meat cutting over the dark, mud-smell of deeper soil. Momma’s smile switching sizes, sometimes so wide I could see all the way to the back of her tongue, other times so small it was just a sloped curve. Her smile waxing and waning, her upper lip dipping in when her mouth stretched out. Lipstick marks on her teeth. Traces of red rubbed off on white. Smiling at something I said or did, something she noticed. Silly question