July 7. Garden

Every Sunday since she could remember she'd spent in that garden, except for the days it was raining. They were spent lying on her Pop's bed, his scratchy wool blanket pulled up over her legs watching Elvis movies. Sunny days however were hers to explore. In the far left corner, was a big old gum. Sometimes, her Pop would wave an old broom, one with the long straw (perfect for flying), at that tree and yell at the crows to go away. She would run along behind, joining in, playing the game. In front of it, closer to the house, was a rectangular garden bed, edged in stone and concrete and it's twin to the right. They had borders of marigolds and daisy-filled centres. Flowers perfect for picking - to pluck the petals to find out if 'he' loved her (whichever boy had mildly captured her interest that week - she knew that liking boys was something that girls did), to give to her Nan or to put in her hair. Between the garden beds and the house was a large lawn that turned golden in the summer (her Pop would blame the drought but she thought it was beautiful). In the centre of the lawn was a Hills Hoist. She would hold the pegs for her Nan as she hung the clothes on the line or, if no one was watching, she would take a run up and swing around like a ride. On one memorable day, the kind of day that your shirt stuck to your back and even the dark, cemented box of under-the-house felt like an oven, her Pop had threaded the hose through the clothes line and started gently spinning it around. He said it was to water the lawn but she just knew it was for her. Without hesitating, she ran into the spray, jumping and galloping around the clothesline, the cool water rushing down as joy bubbled up. Her Pop watched wearing his terry hat and a quiet smile.