The hammock wrapped around her sides, shielding her from the cool afternoon breeze and from the onslaught of insects seeking shelter as the day slipped away. Lying there, she wondered what her youngest self would have thought of the life she had now. Of this moment. Of how proud she felt, and what had led her here.
Her thoughts were interrupted by cracking laughter drifting across the valley, followed by a line of karaoke singers piercing the air with what they clearly believed was a perfect rendition of Video Killed the Radio Star. The local dogs barked in excited unison, as if convinced the cats were having some kind of orgy.
Her mind returned briefly to her younger self just as the first drop of rain landed on her skin. The splat jolted her fully back to the present, along with the unmistakable tones of Bye Bye Baby. She considered reaching for her audiobook to drown out the noise, but her lazier side won. Instead, she lay back further and pretended she was part of the neighbour’s party. Raising her glass, the wine missed her lips, landing squarely on her chest thanks to the gentle sway of the hammock. It was her third glass, which made the whole situation feel that bit more bearable. She glanced towards the porch where her husband sat, quietly reading, a glass of their mutually favourite red wine in hand. She smiled, feeling a surge of something close to awe.
She felt lucky.
Luck had not always been kind. In the past, Lady Luck had been an evil witch, disguising herself to guide her into a series of poor choices and painful episodes, which dragged her down until happiness felt like a myth reserved for other people.
Her thoughts were broken again as swallows swooped low across the pool, skimming the surface. Black and white nuns of the sky, arriving with purpose and disappearing just as quickly. Then came the wasp, its buzz threatening the calm she had been holding onto. She flailed her arms like an out of control windmill, unaware it had already moved on to its next victim. By the time she stopped, she was wide awake. Just in time to feel more raindrops landing steadily on her arm, slow and deliberate, like the ticking of a clock. Her senses sharpened. The smell of damp soil rose around her. The evening sky deepened in colour, beautiful but heavy with the promise of heavier, more consistent rain.
Sweet Caroline drifted across the valley. She winced. Without question, the worst song ever written. She tipped back the last of the wine, hoping it might dull the lyrics, and laughed at a sparrow wiping its beak against the pavement, the way a child lazily wipes chocolate from their mouth on a parent’s sleeve.
Raindrops continued to speckle the pages of her notepad as she tried to capture the feeling of this exact moment in time. The stillness. The noise. The absurdity. The gratitude.
And for once, the words came easily.
---2025 ---
If any of this resonated with you, please leave a comment. Thank you in advance, Tracey x
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