Childhood Memories - A wistful Tale

Best-love-ever

It is not easy for me to tell you that I have lain in my bed down in Pasea Estate, in Tortola, many nights, thinking of beautiful Guyana. I remember as a boy growing up in Industry a village on the outskirts of Greater Georgetown, standing in our yard that had no fence, I would watch the coconut trees, tall, almost elegant, swaying drunkenly, teasing the human mind, they would snap at any moment, only to straighten and allow you to breathe a loud sigh of relief.

In the nights as we lay down to sleep on the hard floor covered with rice bags, followed by beddings, I could hear through the cracks in wooded walls, the mango trees singing a melody of their own, daring you to listen for the plod of a fallen ripe fruit from its stem and forcing you to rise early in the morning to race other siblings, to grabbed the fallen mangoes from the dry hard ground and taste the succulent freshness.

(to be continued )