She pointed at the sun that was slowly uncovering itself from the tail end of a cloud that looked a great deal like an antique, wind up music box.
The fall breeze kindly provided the movement and the sound for the leaves that circled at our feet while we stood there together, motionless.
But then she began twirling and dancing and laughing to the music that had been painted in her head. It was loud enough for me to hear.
I joined in.
To be six is to possess the world by making it your own, conscripting everyone around you, and demanding that they forget
so that they can finally remember.
Copyright (TZampino) 2020
Image Credit: Pixabay