The Fetch
“He was using the red crayon to fashion loops on the paper, winding one loop inside another, keeping a continuous form emerging as he listened to the excitement in the house.
The voices were high-pitched and happy. The movement around him was frantic, random, making breezes as it passed.
As he fashioned the spirals he kept his eyes on the white paper, glancing only at the feet that passed by in his peripheral vision: sometimes the green slippers of his mother; sometimes the muddy boots of his fa...ther; occasionally the shoes of people he knew only slightly.
The paper filled with his drawing.
As the buzz of voices and activity grew loud and near, so he drew more vigorously. When the storm passed deeper into the house, away from him, he slowed, letting the crayon idle in his fingers, the tip crawling like a snail over the paper.
He heard his name, and the word ‘picnic’, which made him smile with anticipated pleasure. And sometimes the tone and the words he knew combined to give an impression of what was happening, so that as the shadows of the giants swept past him, looming briefly at the edge of vision, sweeping through, closing and opening doors, gathering food, gathering bottles, packing, preparing, throwing together boots and raincoats and all the familiar items of ‘picnics’, so he began to understand that there was something special about today.MoreLess
The voices were high-pitched and happy. The movement around him was frantic, random, making breezes as it passed.
As he fashioned the spirals he kept his eyes on the white paper, glancing only at the feet that passed by in his peripheral vision: sometimes the green slippers of his mother; sometimes the muddy boots of his fa...ther; occasionally the shoes of people he knew only slightly.
The paper filled with his drawing.
As the buzz of voices and activity grew loud and near, so he drew more vigorously. When the storm passed deeper into the house, away from him, he slowed, letting the crayon idle in his fingers, the tip crawling like a snail over the paper.
He heard his name, and the word ‘picnic’, which made him smile with anticipated pleasure. And sometimes the tone and the words he knew combined to give an impression of what was happening, so that as the shadows of the giants swept past him, looming briefly at the edge of vision, sweeping through, closing and opening doors, gathering food, gathering bottles, packing, preparing, throwing together boots and raincoats and all the familiar items of ‘picnics’, so he began to understand that there was something special about today.MoreLess
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