Remembering Footsteps

Image Credit: Anja Partin
Image Credit: Anja Partin

The grass soft and prickly, running along train tracks. Soaring on two wheels, falling through the cracks. Sunlight peaks through leaves, piercing outer shells. Delightful squeals of laughter, spontaneous tales of old. Muted dusk the day after, quiet soles fall on the porch. Snuggle into bed, tucked tight;sweet dreams my child, sleep well, goodnight.

cries the depths of night
where young footprints left their mark –
Tenderness e’er lives

****************************************************************
Written for Haibun Thinking in response to the Art Prompt by Anja Partin. The prompt reminded me of my childhood memories. As a child my mum would take my brothers and I out to play at the park and I remember her telling us stories before bed and her sitting on the front porch on summer nights enjoying a port with my aunty as my brothers, cousins and I would ride our bikes up and down the streets.

Cradling Childhood

 

As whispers in the night take flight

like two kids in a cubby

we write our lives away

on discoloured beige running

 

Hail, farewell sophistication

acclaimed etiquette, sacred rite

usher in the age of childhood

unassuming knees bent incite

 

Words beyond comprehension

did we on that day soak up

unwittingly did they grasp us

as joyful innocence welled up

 

 

Deaf Ears

She dug her fingers into the damp earth scooping out one soily mass after another.  The small red and yellow beach-bucket sat helplessly as she stuffed it to the brim.  Once full, she grabbed the handle with her grimy, little hands and tottered towards the back door where an innocuous-looking tap awaited her.  She turned the tap and let the water flow into the bucket.  Her face brightened as the dirt became swampy, squishy mud, oozing over the rim.  She was ready.  As the gentle spring sun caressed her auburn locks she began her special project.  With tablespoon in hand she clumsily scooped the sloshy mud into the non-stick cavities of the cupcake tin, mixing in blades of grass that she had cut herself, decorating the tops with leaves and twigs.  Once her masterpiece was finished she took it to the oven (dog kennel) to bake.  At that moment she heard the car door, daddy was home!

Daddy stood on the bottom step, with arms crossed, his dark eyebrows knitted into a frown.  She ran to him and grabbed his legs, hugging him, calling out “Daddy!  Daddy, up!”  But the storm clouds had arrived, darkness had settled and it began to rain.  Daddy was angry.  She had dirtied his good pants.  The new pavers were covered in mud and mummy’s cupcake tin was dirty, not to mentioned her special OshKosh B’gosh ensemble that nanna had bought her for Christmas!

“Look what you’ve done!” yelled Daddy.

She tried to explain, “I’m making a cake f…” but daddy couldn’t hear.

“Don’t speak back to me you little good-for-nothing!  All you ever do is leave a mess wherever you go!  Get inside so your mother can clean you up!”

She quickly ran up the stairs and flew through the back door.  Simple tears stung her chestnut eyes, travelling down her cheeks.  She wanted to explain but he could not hear her.  She had wanted it to be special…

 In the background could be heard a faint rumbling, daddy murmuring, “Now I’ll have to clean this darn mess…”  Daddy spent the rest of that spring afternoon cleaning the pavers, murmuring and rumbling to  himself.  Once he finished he ate his dinner and went to bed.  He did not have the energy for conversation.  That night mummy put me to bed.

During the night daddy woke up.  He could not sleep.  He walked into the kitchen to get a cold drink of water.  As he opened the fridge door, the light shone on the bench revealing a small plate.  “I am a little hungry,” thought daddy, “I wonder what it is?”  As he took a closer look he saw a small, brown cupcake-looking thing with a dry leaf sticking out of its top.  On the bench, next to the plate, was a note:

Happy birthday Daddy
Happy birthday Daddy

*************************************************************************************************************************************************

Written for Quotespiration Challenge – Week 2 in response to the quote:

“I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether the drawing frightened them. But they answered: “Frighten? Why should anyone by frightened by a hat?” My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made another drawing: I drew the inside of the boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly.” – from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery

 The challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction in 1000 words or less.  If you’d like to join in just follow the following link!