The Spectator

This one isn't from SWW. It's a painting by Gustave Caillebotte

The man pushed himself out of his chair, stumbling to the balcony’s edge. He gripped the banister for a moment, steadied himself, then stood straight, staring out at the street below him.

I sat, just out of eyeshot, watching him. His face turned away, I caught only the back of his head and his hunched, sloping shoulders. I stayed still, just watching him watch.

He didn’t seem to be paying much attention, gazing listlessly over the Parisian boulevard. Suddenly, his head dropped. It was as if it had been attached to a hinge, so quick and mechanical was the motion. The man let out a sigh, moving his head along as if following someone walking on the street under him. He snapped his head back up again, and, turning to hobble back to his flame-colored seat, allowed his pallid face to be seen for a moment.

A single teardrop traced a river down his cheek.

The Little Prince

I’ve been reading the Little Prince in French recently, and it really has a lot of wisdom about what’s important in life. This quote particularly struck me, and I thought I would share:

“Je connais une planète où il y a un Monsieur cramoisi. Il n’a jamais respiré une fleur. Il n’a jamais regardé une étoile. Il n’a jamais aimé personne. Il n’a jamais rien fait d’autre que des additions. Et toute la journée il répète comme toi : « Je suis un homme sérieux! Je suis un homme sérieux! » et ça le fait gonfler d’orgueil. Mais ce n’est pas un homme, c’est un champignon!”

And for those of you who don’t speak French:

“I know a planet where there is a red-faced gentleman. He has never smelled a flower. He has never looked at a star. He has never loved anyone. He has never done anything in his life but add up figures. And all day he says over and over, just like you: ‘I am busy with matters of consequence!’ And that makes him swell up with pride. But he is not a man–he is a mushroom!”

Please, friends, don’t be mushrooms. I think the world has enough of those already.

Boy + Girl

Spinning.
Hold my hands and swing me around.
Everything blurred
but you. Your
Smile
Sparkles in the sun. Your familiar laugh
echoes through my skull. Don’t let go
or I’ll fall.

Take a picture.
A perfect summer day to last forever
with me in your arms.

Broken

Stories Without Words (See sidebar links)

Lily ran upstairs and crumpled into her bedroom door. She carefully curled herself into a ball and sat there, on the hard wood floor, rocking back and forth. She sharply drew air in, then expelled it with a hiss in time with her rocking.

She pressed her hands tightly to her ears, blocking out the tiniest fragment of sound.

Bang. Scream. A loud, low shout. The sound her jump-rope made when she swung it in the air. Sobbing. Another jump-rope sound. Silence.

Lily swung her arm sideways, groping for the marionette her father had given her for her 8th birthday. Standing, she raised the wooden pinocchio in the air and hurled it to the ground as hard as she could. Lily glared at the thing as it lay there, broken.

Small Beauties

Small Beauties                           

I dream of a day when time will slow for me,
that I may stop to notice a flower in the grass.

Leaves of vibrant green,
a green so fresh and saturated
that it radiates pure energy.

Petals of deep yellow,
the sun, a sinking orb of light
as day wears on.  

Nestled so among the tall blades,
ever tossed by those rustling giants,
that one may easily pass it by.

Yet if time could pause
its rushing agenda,

That flower in the grass,
small in size but great in beauty,
could bring such joy.