Friday, January 21, 2011

Old Posts: Death Of A Little Boy's Innocence

What fun it must be to tickle the clouds and watch them burst into an angry rain! He does that sometimes. But most of the time he meanders through thick layers of thoughts, whooping in glee as he bungee-jumps through the hidden crevices that don't exist until you actually know that they do. They're silent, those crevices. And you must be silent when you slide through them so as not to interrupt deep thoughts. But what does he care? Half a hoot? Even less, I suspect. He's usually streaked with colours you've never even suspected exist. He's a bit of a silly creature. He loves to run his fingers over the wings of butterflies and over chameleons on the defensive and he rubs their colours all over himself! How do you think moths are made? They're the butterflies that he's removed all the colour from! He's usually a noisy child, whooping and screaming and whistling and thumping his feet to create a beat. When he gets tired of being noisy, he talks to crickets and giggles softly with the ladybirds.
He sings softly in his sleep – the words of one song to the tune of another. He dreams about cotton wool every night. He bites into raindrops seconds before they're fully formed – they're crisp then with water inside – quite delicious!
He doesn't know that he can't touch the sun. He thinks that if he slides down rainbows, he will reach the sun. Like I said before, he's a bit of a silly creature. And so, one day, he plucked a feather from an ostrich that had stuck its head in sand – for good luck of course – and climbed up to the very top of a rainbow. And being in a good mood, he slid down the yellow band of the rainbow, clucking in great glee as the wind kissed him and the sunshine held him tight.He landed with a hard thump on earth. He never whooped in glee again. He never giggled with ladybirds again. And he never ever dreamed about cotton wool.

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