‘I hope I
live to be one hundred’, I whisper to myself as I clamber out of bed. The
sunlight seeps through my curtains begging to be exposed, tugging them open the
warmth hits me like a scorching laser. Opening up my windows wide I peer out
focusing on the beach beyond, the sea delicately kisses the golden shore
whispering, hushing and calling my name. I peer across my lawn to the vivid
green hammock in which my husband sits patiently swinging and waxing our
surfboards. At just seven o’clock we jog hand in hand amongst the shells,
plunging into the waves and swim into the distance of the glistening turquoise
life beyond.
‘Happy fiftieth’, Hayley my friend sings as she enters our bookstore. The warm air
rushes through the old oak door, books waft open continuously, and pages rustle
like a peaceful symphony. As I continue to type to the beat of the familiar
tune, scents of sea and sand combine with the familiar smell of books allowing
me to indulge further.
‘Here’s to
another fifty years’, Lucas my husband of twenty five years chimes from across
the dinner table. Glasses clink as family and friends cheer, I smile and laugh
along as I watch my loved ones. The barbeque sizzles as my son turns the meat,
on the table bright salad lies under a blanket of dressing and various cold
beverages bubble in jugs. A stack of presents block my daughters view as she
tip toes down the patio, soft ribbons, silky wrap, some large, some small.
With the
fire burning we sit sipping drinks, guitar strumming and singing to acoustic
tunes. The night sky creeps closer, a peach sky invades the blue as the sun
swims above the ocean, the sea now slower as its light waves crash against the
rocks below. What a wonderful birthday.
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