Breathe the Air

My Dear Princess and Dear Fellow,

When I was a little kid, in our semi-detached house in Wreyfield Drive in Edinburgh, my dad would sometimes call me to the back door at dusk.

He'd make me stand there with him and he'd instruct me to breathe the air. 

He's take deep snorts of it, in and out, with an air of deep satisfaction. 

I was about five at the time. So he must have been about 20 years younger than I am now.

As a five year old, such strange adult behaviour is bemusing. Air was air, I thought at the time. Still, I enjoyed standing there next to him, pretending to be grown up by breathing deeply as the sun went down. 

It was my dad's favourite time of day I think. I don't know exactly why, but now I find that it is mine too. Especially at the close of warm summer days when the birds suddenly quieten and the early evening smells fill the air. 

It's also the time of day when I close up the garden for the boys. I remove all the Punky anti-escape measures and open up hedgehog highway, allowing the prickly little things to come and go. 

But these days when I do it, I say hi to my dad too. I tell him I'm happy he made it to Aotearoa finally and I invite him to enjoy the air. 

We all need to stop and breathe sometimes. 

S.