During the recess of our art class, we have the agenda of reading picture books together. This week the boys take a fancy to Bruno Munari's l'uomo del camion. One of the reasons is that they are tickled by my Italian pronunciation. When we go on short field trips, strolling on the roads, we can't help shouting "motocicletta," "bicicletta!"
After finding out which class he'll be in, Von rushed to report to me that he had seen the name of the little girl he has a crush on. Though they are not in the same class, he is still overjoyed. Because I know adults can't just feel satisfied because of the existence of another person, because I know we always ask for more than that, I so love his untainted happiness.
Well, the so-called field trip was nothing but a grandiose excuse for my errands. The three of us walked on the busy roads hand in hand. But then we felt raindrops kissing our faces. We picked up the speed and ran for shelter. At this moment, Von and I exclaimed with envy, "Kai, we'd like to have your head. You don't get wet!" Without any previous embarrassment, he replied, "Yes, I love it!" While we were waiting under a roofed building, Kai just ran into the rain turning around as if he were Fred Astaire, laughing that silver-bell laugh only the happiest person in the world is entitled to. What a gorgeous image!
My British possessions, after two months of sailing on the vast sea, have come back to me. Among them are the tram car that accompanied me during the whole journey and the wooden man from Jazel. Now I have everything, loneliness and togetherness, but it is the latter that cradles me now. So even if God shows me just the lines and contours, I can see the colors and the glow.