I stand at the road and stare at the building trying to reconcile it with the one from my childhood. It's just a non-descript house in a row of non-descript houses crawling slowly up the hill towards the church. Was that all it ever was? I ponder as I watch a lazy bumblebee loop-to-loop its way to the geraniums standing sentry along the front of the house.
The world stops. Even the breeze has disappeared. The unusually sunny sky paints the house but it's just a facade on the depressing stucco walls. Flecks of gray paint commit suicide from the front door overhang revealing the old pale blue underneath. Like a line of marching ants, four doorbells stretch along the doorframe. I can't help but think to when there used to be only one.
The moment is broken as I feel the breeze on my cheek.
An ad for Skysports whispers out the window defeating the lace curtain’s attempt to hide life from the outside world. The whisper reaches the church bells and they answer in dulcet tones: it’s one o’clock and we don’t want Skysports.
The roar of life comes from the road and the bumblebee takes off.
You can never go home again.