Our Classic Sunday
By Ella F
Published 20 September 2017
Fighting against the wind, gripping tight
I feel as though I’m falling, about to take flight
Just as I start to fall, my grip is tightened
Bringing my focus back to the game.
The suns blistering heat glaring, glowing against the gold lion with its
Anger a roar. Our game is almost at a close.
The opposition makes their move seeking the victory to be theirs.
As we make our final move, the bowl rolls across the lawn, like a wheel.
tipping and tilting. With the wind running against it.
Swish, swash
It slowly comes to a halt, just touching white ball, winning the match.
I get hurled into the air, hearing their cheers like trumpets.
I’m swept from the ground, popped onto pa’s sweaty head, marching to greet our competition.
Even though they did not win, their faces are gleaming with laughter and smiles
We collide to each other with hugs, handshakes and kisses.
Because this was no event.
This was a simple game of lawn bowls in the side yard of my grandpa’s caravan.