“Why can’t we do takeaway” said the voice to my left, before staring out the window wistfully at yet another day prime for play and puddle jumping in what the rains had left.
It left me thinking, a grown man of thirty-four, when had I last desired to be muddy by the door? To strip off boots and socks and step onto a towel, still a little mud around, a smile. Before feeling cosy and safe, knowing I had made the most of the day.
When, had I last not cared about the state of my hair, about the state of my clothes or the looks I might get for being a mess. The looks, from huffing and puffing, from running and jumping, just making the most of movement, I guess.
Why can’t we do takeaway away, it could be the start of a joyful day.
LazyModernTraveler 