He was a boy filled with his own brand of kinetic energy. Even when he was standing still, she thought
she could hear it. A sort of
humming. A kind of tick, tick, tick. The sound of a string being wound tight. The hiss of a match being lit. So even though she saw laughter in his lagoon blue eyes, she
worried for him.
She wanted to send him forth into the world with messages --
deeply instilled -- in case life tried to drum the spark out of him. (The way that
it does. Oh, the way that it does…..The
spiteful kick to his shin. The mocking words behind his turned
back. The disappearance of his carefully
packed lunch.)
If only she could provide some protection against the
hardening of his nine-year old heart.
Perhaps if he slept among the wise words, among the magic
numbers, among the street signs, it would penetrate some how and leave an
indelible imprint just below the surface……… for times when he felt lost
in the maze of his little boy life…..
PS My gratitude knows no bounds for Melanie of Modello Designs (such creative talent!) and the generosity of each and every one of the Peacock Painters. A special thanks to lovely Gwen who worked steadfastly on Tristan's room for 4 days straight. Shoukran.
(And shoukran again. )
