Monday, November 15, 2010

Monday's happy twists and turns

Another morning and I am late for work. I walk hastily towards the daycare centre holding Jay’s hand in mine when I remember Neza Maurer’s poem:

Drobne prstke imam,
da se mame držim.
Dokler ne zrastejo,
se ne spustim.

I have tiny fingers
holding on to my Mom.
Until they grow bigger
I won't let go of her hand.

The wind is rustling in the treetops so loudly I can hardly hear myself walk over dead leaves. But then the path descends to the other side of the hill and it’s like leaving a battlefield behind and entering a shelter in the middle of the woods.

The story has a twist and I can’t wait to read on. I can’t remember the last time I was so excited about a book.

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