How do They do That? (bp coyle)

How do they do it? How are they always so careless and free? Running around the playground without a thought or a fear. Without a care in the world. Laughing, jostling, rolling on the muddy ground. Charging from the swings to the slide. From the roundabout to the climbing frame. The see-saw.

My bedroom overlooks the park where they gather each day after school. Where they gather every day of the summer. I peek through the curtains at them from my darkened room. They are so sure of themselves. Dividing into teams for football or rugby. Playing chasing and other games I do not know the names of or the rules.

There are tears at times, name calling, though it soon blows over and all continues as before. Sometimes they split into small groups, chat, share sweets and fizzy drinks. Tell stories and jokes, odd words drift up to my window if the wind is blowing from that direction.

I can’t say I’m jealous, honestly I’m not. It is all too alien for me to even begin to understand.

Eventually, I draw the blinds against their happiness, their belonging, but the laughter still comes through.

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