Sunshine heart, sunshine waters, I’ve danced with the frogs along the stream. They’re here again, the long days that tickle my memory, because I’ve been here before, beneath skies so paintbrush blue. And once again, there’s not a cloud above my head. 

Papa knows I’ll be back home to bring him a daisy chain when I’m done. There’s a trick to the holes, and sewing the stems through, like my friend once showed me, before she moved. Last year, I found the fairy caves, and where the grumpy gnomes hide, and this year I hope they’ll all get along a little better with themselves. But they promised to make my wishes on the stepping stones come true, so some nights, I sing them a prayer to say thank you, as one always should.

The grasses are still squidgy, but not from the rain. I still find green stains, even though I’m now playing gentle and safe. My skin smells sweetly of sunscreen, otherwise my Papa just wouldn’t let me out. I’m still a little itchy, but he told me that if I scratched, I’d only make it worse, and I don’t think I could handle any more of that. There’s a toad I’ve called Fred, and a neighbour’s cat who likes me more. If she didn’t have a collar, I would call her my own and never give her back for a moment.

I have a feeling we’ll all be indoors again, tomorrow, or the next. Someday, it won’t be just like this. I won’t feel prickly hot and want the breeze on my face; I won’t know the smell of freshly cut grass or the kiss of mayflies as they fleck my cheek. I used to collect them in the front of my striped pinafore, but someday, I think something will harry them away. And I’ll have to go inside again, drawing, talking, waiting, for another day like this, when I can meet the frogs and the ants, and the spiders on the garden shed. 

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