Cards juice knee wire
Seen in the avenues during my walk yesterday morning.
A small boy looking at me.
A smile alighting his face.
A neighbour’s son.
A balcony above.
A patio emerges.
An open newspaper, a person, a man, hiding.
What is a kid’s memory but a perception of a frozen instant, adding to a personal story, perhaps a personal history?
Then, later, we built stories from frozen images.
No name are going to be mentioned. However, I have noticed that some accounts are no more than vanity windows for people to show how good their homes are. While some of them are quite interesting to see, but my desire to see the people behind them is nil.
And I remembered what I was about to write when my mind went into a blank.
the girl said.
Afternoon in the main commercial street. She was strolling, leisurely, with her school friends, a sea of blue to the sound of chirping dominating the afternoon traffic.
She was so young, barely in her teens. So delicate, yet so earthy…
So long ago…
*Seven was the highest mark on Chileans schools at the time.
Walking through my neighbourhood some seven years ago, in the evening, I came across a forgotten doll, remains of a childhood which, perhaps, was in the process of being discarded.
Since then I have seen the girl to whom this doll that, once upon a time, cherished it. She is now a young woman, probably discarding boyfriends.
Snow, untouched, a blanket of silence punctured by the occasional chirping of sparrows…
Until it was violated by foot steps, the magic gone.
Enjoying his first snow…