Facingworldsapart

With a frayed blanket in the one hand, and while rubbing my fingers feeling the bristly sensation feathering my sense while sucking my thumb the other world outside the window persisted and waned away the intrigue of rain drop purfling the window panes. I too begun to feel the depression of the endless stale gray veil that hung over everything that existed outside. Mother watched out to flip of that heavy cloak of a mood that sat on my shoulders, as she moved by the window, hustling and bustling by the sink. Then the drops came back, with a weather hand squeegeeing the window panes begged to enter and in the dry room on the floor where I sat play with me. The routine of longs days faded from being aware, of the relentless weather that ran for weeks sulking. At the break of sunlight shafts through the sky that lit up the window and stroke the shadows away in the room. Mother wiped her hands on an apron and turned to face me. In a swipe floating in the air in an over protective indulgence to hear a dreaming away beauty where rain drops pearled down the glass in strings the window voice into which my existence 1

Through the eyes of a child -- The Adult in a Child faded away; 'Sun shine can't offer these transparent and running pearls?' I faded into existence with a breeze that swept across the backyard, where I found myself seated on an island of yellow washed building sand in a penetrating chill crawl under my skin. I rose my eyes in search of the invasive breeze, crossed the gritty straight drive from the gateway, to be distracted by meeting the day light reflective wall of the house planted in my view. A moment after absorption, in mind I spotted my stretched out legs at a wide angle on a sand apron beach moist that dampens the dust, awakened the sense of the silky fray cloth at my finger tips with a touch of sharp as the grains rolled with a sensation of welcome. My right hand had moved, the palm filled with the lie sturdy on the pressed metal roof of a dumper truck's cabin with outreaching finger, the tip of my thumb in the windshield gap, a pinkie on the cutting edge to the rear window, and the remaining set of fingers away from the driver's window touching the edge of the passenger side window. I was distracted and hunted the breeze, with a squint over my left shoulder and moving sight across the builder's yard and up to a terra cotta and knee high wall that ran off behind me toward the street, without sight of a shadow. I dropped my pursuit as an inexplicable, annoying, and preemptive phenomenon. My attention was looped back to my fingers in charge of the road construction through the desert of a blueprint in mind. Scrapped my right hand with the blade of a Caterpillar until stopped by my leg. My left hand took the relay, and faced with a similar situation. in a coordinated effort, on both hand, I bent far forward between my spread legs and didn't resolve reaching my feet in tracing a ring road. 2

As the breeze laid, in the hollow of the backyard the chilling notion of mother's warm guarding spirit that had vanished. In a sense of isolation, I sought after the source of her spirit, crossed the driveway and met the boxed stairway. Rose the half a dozen treads to the closed door, and jumped the pillar to the double sash window to meet mother's daylight waxing face in a telepathic instance in a moment before, invisible fingers drew the draping curtains which swayed the instant she set eyes on me and securing me with a heartthrob and wellbeing allowing me to indulgent in the red truck idling on my right. red and sparkling new a pointed nose model with mudguards trimming the wheels to an overbearing cabin. I drove and backed up the truck with a twist of my body closest to the mount of sand behind me. outreaching my right arm and with one set of fingers that clawed the loose sand, digging and no sooner raising the scooped hand. As I pivoted sand poured out the bottom of my hand. I paid little attention, returning time and again and on the verge of loosing patience measuring the relation to my effort to the filling the bin. Yet, I drove off with the partially filled bin. On the way picked up difficulties. While driving and forcing left the truck for the road. The fixed direction of the wheels forced with a will of its own the truck to go right off course. The truck tilted over with the dumper lifted of the chassis to lay jackknife and the little sand spilled out. With the claws of my fingers I grabbed the wreck and lifted the truck at arm's length back where earlier in my field of vision I kept an eye on the idling truck. I moved in with the idea of a Caterpillar, scraping the tracks of the accident smoothing anew road. A distant notion called me to glance in the direction of the corner of the house, when in the street Grandfather's red Studebaker truck peeked a nose and came to a standstill the cabin in view at the corner of the house. comfortable with the scene, I gazed at the shadow of father stepping out on the driver's side. Instead, The bulldog figure closed the cabin door, and approached clearing the red truck dressed in a blue bib and braced overall. As he waddles his way along knee height prolonging the low face brick street wall toward the driveway opening, rhyming on a musical syllables; "Dis onze gast1!" of a tune that changed the echoed of voices at hearing distance; 'Jan!' When routinely the curiosity faded away, like a long story of a rugged construction worker to father in a partnership with his Fatherin-Law.

1 NL>EN That's our bloke!

Through the eyes of a child -- The Adult in a Child By sight I dropped with indifference the figure, to head on toying in a reality of other worlds, discreet behind the window while elevated in mother's arms I watch in admiration of the red truck maneuvering and swerve into the backyard that ended by a heap of sand left behind. Now it was my turn to tip and drive, as I scooped up from the sand quarry and boomed again and again from the heap behind me to dump the sand into the bin of my reduced model of truck, When the shadow of a cloud in the sky rose over me stifling a weak sunlight that warmed the air. In the chill of air raised with suspicion, a thick construction leather boots pointed a my new road. In fixation on the slow and other giant boot, each step slower and more threatening than the previous, the imminent footstep came down on my road, with a crunch of sand, chilling me with a mounting anger through my body. While pleading for my finished roads, the other boots joined the first. With a pleading shy gaze by sight I rose up from the boots the blue cuff, on and after the man's indifferent spirit. Slow and crawling by sight up the giant overall legs that grew to a figure blotching the sky. With the giant frozen in my face, the screech of the door fling open, mother's voice exulted a despair from behind the figure, calling out. She repeated "Jan!, Stopt nu toch! Wild je nu toch ophouden met het kind zijn oren the treken!2 By sight I moved around the left of the figure, and beyond mother's face, which had vanished with an anxious frown, into the darkness of the pillar. The figure rotated in his blues, having got mother's attention that which, I was the excuse. He left the perfume of a wining riddle smiling a wash through my body, as I sat helpless to move, drenched with sadness my gaze falling to watch the giant boot grind the sand grains with ball of the foot turn and lift of the heel. By sight anchored to assess the damage left behind, in mother's anxious calls I found appease. Her voice blooming the flower that she was, distracted me from the monster's thick fingers which, released the pinched of my ear that shook my head moments earlier. A moment later in despise I glanced at the figure who had lost his waddle in a few
2 John! Will you stop that! Will you stop annoying my boy. Stop pulling his ears?

strides across the driveway toward mother on the landing. behind her daylight filtered inside the open door of the darkness to which father had total trust during his absence. Mother spoke her thoughts, fearing that mu ears were going to grow away and big mickey mouse ears, in a tone of finality said; "Jan! Will you stop that! Stop pulling his ears?