The boy, Little Red, traded in his ball for a broom. His ball had been recycled many times transforming itself into a helmet, then a bucket, a slingshot and finally a bicycle's tire patch. It was the eye shaped patch, the unmistakable color of a faded red rubber ball, glued to the back tire of his mother's bicycle, that quickened my heart and made me realise that I had hired his mother to be my parttime house keeper.
~my last night in Pong Yaeng
lovely... heart warming... thank you! kenza
ReplyDeleteNice colours and so warm... :)
ReplyDeleteI enjoy reading the tale of the boy!
ReplyDeleteLove the expression of the boy's eyes.
I have once had a similar experience that I met a child for a few times ... at the same place ... when I got back to the same place, I just looked for her and wondered what happened to her ...
These fragments of encounters did interweave together in my mind forming my own imagination on this little girl ...
And, the wall you are mentioning is just the wall next to my house :)
He was meant to be with you, part of you, all along.
ReplyDelete