My Tree

Today was the last proper full day of going to work at my current office.
As said office is located at my childhood home I was expecting to feel considerably more sad and emotional than I do. So why is that?
Maybe because in these tough economic times, I should just be pleased that I still have my job, just at a different location from next Monday?
Maybe because there’s still so much stuff there to tidy that I know I’ll be making a few trips back & haven’t said a final goodbye?
Maybe because I already left once to move away and only returned part time after working for a different company elsewhere & becoming ill?
Maybe because my parents’ bungalow was renovated in the 80s & my happiest childhood memories are before that time?
Maybe because a lot of my memories are gone anyway thanks to that winning combination of clinical depression and sleep deprivation?
All I know is, the main thing I’m still drawn to there is my tree.
I know it’s not a tree, it’s a shrub; but, all those years ago it was my tree and in the dyke beneath it was my den with planks of wood, probably from pallets, forming a bench and a table, where every Spring and Summer colouring in and Lego building would take place. Or it would be a hideout playing cops and robbers with my little brother (I can still smell the aroma of cap gun shot now!)
There’s probably still some down there with a couple of felt tip pens and Lego bricks but I have neither been brave or sure-footed enough to look since.
I photographed it today, bathing in the sunshine, ¬†full of red berries, when I took Stella for our morning stroll. It’s nothing special to look at it but it will always hold a special place in my heart.
Stella is near…
the tree is far away!
Where’s your favourite childhood place?
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