gone fishin'

He sits at the streams edge lazily and attentively tending to his pole. The red and white globe floats away with the current and teases him by dropping below the water line in time with the waves. All day, nothing but sitting and staring. This slowness and patience refuels him for another week. He could hear again his own heartbeat and feel how the air entered and left his body. Even watching the development of his sunburn reconnected him to the definition of life. His friends need bars and lights and noise. He needs the sound the world makes when it wakes up.

Just thinking about my brother.

new again

Come on, Daddy!

I'm coming. My knees are old; they don't move as fast as they used to.

You're silly. We're almost there, but we have to HURRY!!!

Okay, okay. I'm hurrying.

They got to the top of the hill, and the child sat down. The father looked around trying to figure out what it was he was supposed to see. Trees, grass, flowers: everything was muted by the pre-dawn light.

What

Just wait. Sit and wait.

He sat down and waited. The pinks, yellows and blues awoke in the east, and the life around them started to bloom again. Finally the sun peaked a wary eye over the horizon and everything exploded into the full color spectrum. The clouds reveled in their temporary hues, and creatures began to chat away the morning. It was a sunrise. Not any special sunrise. Something he had seen hundreds (he hoped) of times.

The child tugged his sleeve, seemed to look through him, and sighed.

Isn't it amazing?

Just remembering the amazing things the world does. Trying to not gender the child (which is very difficult). Contemplating the child(like) innocence literary device.