inspired by the steps

Angela took me to see the bungalow we had lived in when I was five years old. I recognised the house, although the garden was very much altered. The new owners were obviously keen gardeners, as my Dad was. I remembered pulling the pixi hats off the californian poppies at the bottom of the garden.

Then I saw the neighbour's steps. They were in exactly the right place, although the back door had been blocked off, but, like Alice, I had grown, and the steps had shrunk.