Weekend filled with touching base with family

Stories told, old photos softly touched. My grandparents history captured in a black and white rectangle.

My history.

Walking around streets that used to be my streets, somethings have changed. Somethings have not.

My old park stands still so much the same.

The Monkeys run, climb, explore gnarly trees, dangle legs on old cannons, and swing on swings that are so very much shorter.

No secret broken palings to slip through unnoticed into the special garden, only to be chased out again by the gardener. Instead open for everyone to explore.

Roses still there to ride bikes between. Thorns still there to break off, lick, and stick on your nose like a rhinoceros.

Bubbler still there to cool an afternoon of excited playing.

 Grass still there to picnic on, kick balls, fly kites and

run until you are so very dizzy.