The house behind our backyard is concealed by a number of large trees and shrubs, planted by us and a former neighbor who was and probably still is evil.
The evil neighbors have moved, replaced by a family we have never seen because of the greenery.
But we hear them. We hear the children.
The children. Several of them. Many of them. Playing on their outdoor trampoline for hours upon end.
In most households, including our own, children grow up. Their bodies change and grow. Their voices deepen. Their vocabularies flourish. They become teenagers and then adults.
But not our neighbor’s children.
For years and years, the joyful cries of children playing on an outdoor trampoline have provided the soundtrack to our summers.
Children bouncing and shouting with glee but never changing. Never aging.
Year after year after year.
I admire the joy one can find in pursuits that allow one to keep a childlike curiosity and sense of wonder.
But I’m kinda scared of our neighbors.
And that mysterious trampoline.
Where the children never grow up.
What do you think?
See you tomorrow.