When I was little, one of my favourite places to play was the alleyway behind our house. It was the sixties, and pretty much everybody had an alleyway.
(Not a faux-alleyway either, which seems to be a Johnny-come-lately residential planning response to the blight that is sprawl. Oops. Ranting. Note to self: don't be a ranter).
The alley is where I learned to ride my bike, played skipping games, and floated paper boats in puddles. It's where dad parked the car and where the local hoop could be found, fastened firmly on the side of the neighbour's garage.
The alley defined my childhood scope. I was allowed to play there and in the yard.
Back yard: anytime.
Front yard: special occasions only.
Mainly, I had to be close enough to be easily called in for lunch.
Besides being the somewhat scrubby borderland of my childhood territory, what I loved about the alley was the notion that it led somewhere. Somewhere else. Somewhere I might go someday - when I was big enough.