She
poddled up and down the grass, after her
sister, who was drawing mermaids on paper bags. Small feet. Pad pad pad. The two of them chased
late summer crickets. Held them in cupped hands to hear them sing.
In Fall she
danced in scarlet leaves. And I with her. And the two of them. On the hill. Crunched and crackled the leaves
like crackers.
In winter they
scuffed
through white meringue clouds of
snow , playing hide and go seek.
HER boots,
plaid lined. HER snowsuit, frosted with snow. She tore off her kitten eared hat
, declaring she was NOT a cat. She made powdery snowballs with her small hands. A
little snowman. Called it a cat. Stuck her hat on top.
She poddled
up and down the stairs one snowy Maritime Christmas, singing Jingle Bells for
at least an hour. The other one plunked
it out on the piano, for about an hour, as well.
She dragged her dolls, out into the rain. Barbies, minus
their heads, flinging this way and
that, thrown into puddles. Sink or swim. They sank.
In the
spring, it was frilly dresses, jumping up and down on beds, chasing the cats around, stories and drawings
and days spent on swings.
SHE no
longer poddled after her sister. She ran this way and that. Got lost after school. We found her sitting nicely on
the front steps. She wondered what all the fuss was about
Red. Orange.
Flame. Gold. Swathes of colour, swinging on
trees like angel wings.Leaves fell every year.
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Now to the
beat of their own drum.
