A Wild Meadow

Hello everyone

Still enjoying my time in Sweden.  Ah the sun and the pastries!  I know I said I would take a break from all the blogging madness but I have recently dreamt up this post.  So here it is – a quick walk down my memory lane for you while I’m away.  Oh, and before I disappear again to chase some elks – there are some great Sweden inspired posts in the making so watch this space!

DoodleBuddy

There is a wild meadow a five-minute walk away from my parent’s flat.  It doesn’t seem to belong to anyone and you can see it in the neglected long grass and half dead shrubs hiding remains of a drunken party.  Empty bottles of vodka.  Old newspapers used as a seat or cover (or both) from rain and cold.  An old decaying building that used to be a petrol station. Its dead eyes boarded up, its face scarred with an occasional graffiti of male genitals.

This is where I used to play hide and seek with my best friend, crawling on the ground, knowing my dirty knees and torn sleeves would get me into trouble later. The overgrown bushes and grass hid exciting secrets and treasures.  A lonely boot missing its laces.  A broken umbrella. A baseball cap.

This is where as an eight year old girl I took my puppy, Gapcio, for his first proper walk.  Over the years spent exploring the meadow, Gapcio never tired of digging up molehills and showing unrequited love to an occasional hedgehog.  And this was where I took him 18 years later for our last walk before he disappeared in my dad’s car.

The meadow witnessed hours of me and my friend coming to grips with our teenage angst while sitting on a fallen tree, overanalysing failed dates, drinking cheap beer and choking on cigarette smoke.  During summers a group of secret naturists took over our hiding spot to scorch their wobbly bellies in the high sun.

This is where I came to say good-bye to my life in Poland before heading off into the unknown eight years ago.

One year I brought a former boyfriend back with me to introduce him to the meadow and its magic. He looked at the grey blocks of flats rising over the city in the far distance, the weeds and dead trees around us, dried out bones of a dead bird he had managed to avoid stepping into and the abandoned petrol station building with a fresh graffiti of a gigantic penis on its front.  My heart swelled with pride.

“So, this is the meadow I told you about”

He took his time taking in all the beauty before muttering something about perfect hiding spots for criminals on the run and dodgy drug dealers.

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13 thoughts on “A Wild Meadow

  1. awww this is fab i had a place similar to this and it meant so much to me however it really was a dump! i really really enjoyed reading this post honey .. have a fab remainder of you holiday x

    And thanks for linking up with #magicmoments

  2. This was a great read,you wrote so vividly I could really picture your meadow.Do you think we all have a meadow like yours…I do and have recently thought about writing about it,it was called ‘the banking’ well thats what we kids called it!
    #magicmoments

  3. This is a great post, so well written and lovely to read, a tinge of sad nostalgia to it, bitter sweet in a way. I can see the magic you talk about and the memories you have. Really lovely xx

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