Quite often during the warmer months, the sidewalk up the street is covered in chalk drawings by the kids who live in the apartment building. The other day, for the first time, I actually saw the ‘artists’ in action.
about half way through creating their work and were standing surveying the pavement debating the placement of the hospital.

The boy pointed with his blue chalk to a spot right in the middle of the sidewalk.

‘It has to go there,’ he said, ’so that the ambulances can get to both ends of town just as fast.’

‘But I think it should be there,’ the girl said pointing to a spot under the tree, ’so that when the grandma’s look out their windows they can see the tree.’

‘But if it’s there then we have to move the road.’ the boy said, full of practicality, and concern for his ambulance drivers.

‘It’s ok,’ the girl said, ‘we can move the road to give the grandma’s their tree.’

I never did find out where the hospital was drawn, it rained that night and by the time Meeka and I walked past the next morning, everything had washed away. The whole incident, though, reminded me of what it was like to play.

I remember how, as kids, we could entertain ourselves for hours orchestrating ‘rescues’ to save a teddy bear from the cherry tree. We would create tanks from deck chair cushions, walls out of wheelbarrows and moats from the trickle of the garden hose.

The sprinkler became aerial bombardment, the branches of the tree, enemy spears and the shadows on the ground, land mines.

I miss being young. I miss being able to get so much enjoyment and entertainment out of everyday objects. But most of all, I think, I miss spending time surrounded by people who will dive over shadows because, of course they’re land mines, what else could they be?