growing out of it
When I moved here 6 years ago, the children of my neighbors used to play in the shared backyard all the time. Now, the backyard is usually unused; the children grew out of the age when they'd meet up there all the time to chase each other, play soccer and use the swing.
6 years is a lot of time for a child. 6 year olds are suddenly 12, 12 year olds are suddenly 18. So many changes in such a short time... it makes you feel how much is passing you by, and how brief the phases are that feel like forever to a child.
When I go out the backdoor and follow the street, there is an apartment where the same family has lived the entire time I lived here. Whenever I looked up at their first floor window in the past, it was decorated with children's drawings, sometimes directly on the window via normal paint or even windowcolor. Paper was taped to it or other folded and glued things they did in kindergarten or school. The Christmas time was especially decorated, like an effort to really showcase the children's creativity to the outside; seems like they had almost complete freedom with it, as well. The parents were clearly proud, no matter what their children made, in a good way.
I remember one time I looked up two years ago and thought: "Wow. One day I will never see this again, as they will have aged out of it." I don't even know this family or their children, but for some reason, seeing some of their creativity changing every other month on that window and especially so around the holidays is something I loved seeing. It was so human, and unpretentious, no fake or forced Pinterest-esque decoration.
And so it came. This year, the window is covered with pink fairy lights inside. No doubt, it's beautiful, but it made me think about how the children have finally aged out of leaving handprints and other things on the windows for passersby to find.
Oddly, I feel a little sad, but also happy that I got to witness this for a few years. It was just one family, one city, one little spot, one little apartment in it. But it meant something to me, and now it's over; it was there, and I will always remember it.