Age of Innocence.
- Priyanka Padhi
- Jan 9, 2022
- 1 min read
My one particular memory of childhood is a farm on the countriest of country roads. Where I spent a year or two. Big rural land at the very edge of the village with a house sitting on its front. Eerie, as it sounds it felt exactly.
Most days it was just mum and me, dad would stay weekdays in town for work kept him. Two beings in a remote dwelling, a house, a farm and a perfect premise for a 19th century goth novella. My mother still says the house felt a little haunted, maybe because it was huge with highest of high wooden ceilings and too many a room for two, a petite young mother and a kid of four. The large stature of the house and even larger land that followed the backyard, far till my tiny eyes could see.
My grandmother, when visited used to tell, beyond the farm is an abandoned castle, broken and old, of kings forgotten and their kingdom sold. To the tale of castle the village kids added their fantasies of faries, witches, ghosts and ghouls, scary! Each carried a different version, stories spun in curiosity of spring. Kids bit older than I was yet all fairly naive, wearing our innocence like our hearts on sleeves.
The memory remains in the back of my head, those stories have made a little place for themselves and now when I dive deep far into my daydreams I wonder if the tales were true and even if my spring has left, that naive fascination haven’t left me at all.
Thank you for reading.
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