At the End of the Street

There was a paddock at the end of the street locals called No Man's Land. It was a few acres of wild let loose inside a suburban brick and asphalt order. Plenty of open grass, trees to climb, old stables and fenceless yards gave an untamed world to the kids thereabouts to explore and claim. It was the place to go to escape from walls, the world and the tyranny of merciless gods. I spent a good part of my childhood in the sanctuary of those grounds. When things got too much I would crawl out and hang on tight to the tail of a kite I flew there, high above the world where I lived. The air had no boundaries and was beyond the reach of hell. I was before myself in those heights and floated free of what held me. Come dusk, I could feel myself slowly being drawn downwards into a waiting dark and back into another place where I didn't want to be.