It’s Sunday and all the kids are out with their Dads, mucking about in the little playground behind our house. I stood on the balcony for a few minutes with my coffee, watching. Someone threw a frisbee for the crazy giant poodle, Benny and they all heckled and laughed as he galumphed around, back and forth trying to find it again in the long grass.
In the end, it was all too much and the little girl from three doors down ran out to put an end to his misery. She hunted for a couple of minutes with the dog pushing at her, almost knocking her down in his impatience, then, triumphant, she spotted the frisbee, grabbed it and span it back towards the playground. The poodle hurtled after it and the little girl, overjoyed at her success, but modest in the attention, set off back to her father. She ran, legs fully outstretched, arms pumping at her sides, hair streaming … full on and yet her only destination was a few metres away where her Dad was standing, chatting with the neighbours. I marvelled at her fervour … I can’t remember a time when I ran like that. For 20 or so seconds she gave her all, physically, to an almost insignificant action. She probably didn’t even notice – other than being a little out of breath, but I was left standing with my cup, totally in awe, wondering ‘when does it happen to us? … at what point do we give up? To which part of growing up do we abandon ourselves first: is it to our bodies? our inhibitions? … or simply to our apathy?…’
Inside, I’m buzzing … I want to run like that again!