Let's play a little, shall we? I'll pick a spot for us, surrounded by swaying grass, hidden behind quiet trees, in a secret garden of our own. I'll walk around then stoop for a second while I carve upon the surface of the Earth the boundaries of our little game.
I'll hand you my makeshift maker, and let you throw it from spot to spot, place to place, wherever you like, and I'll gleefully chase after it. An innocent laughter tumbles out of me as I hop along; with every spot I leave a mess of giggles.
And when it's my turn, I'll play sly and make a little trick, and chuck it and not tell you where. And with your every hop, I secretly hope, by some natural instinct, by the hand of fate, in spite of myself, you'll find my little mark lodged in the sodden ground.
When at the last, I'll lose my balance. You lend me a hand, and an invitation to get-up and rejoin the world outside the confines of little games and secret hideaways. Hand in hand, as we make a path through the swaying grass and quiet trees, you toss me back in a carefree arc our worn marker: my heart.
It has grown warm.
Though I lost the game, I wonder if we even had to play at all? You give my hand a tug and stun me with a smile--a smile that says I never would have won.
Photo: Ellen Giamportone
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