Trickling

Little Simon was trickling. Down the path he went on the stones meant as steps. His legs were nimble and he was nimble. He himself was very nimble, he had always thought, and as he thought he picked the flower.

Little Simon put the stem of the flower in the pocket of his button shirt.

This button shirt was the same button shirt that his aunt Laverne had worn when she was a child. When she was a girl. And it fit about the same and it seemed hardly worn.

Even Little Simon could see into the distance.

Down in the distance in the direction that Little Simon was trickling he saw the small volcano.

A kind of volcano that little children make in science class, the kind that turn some into children who aspire to be full-time practicioner of science. A scientist.

No actual full-time practices were existent. That was simply an expression of

the people that Little Simon had been around. The people of his society.

Little Simon didn’t know what he aspired to since he could live within the day. That is, he didn’t or couldn’t see beyond the day he was in. As if the day would never retire, as if his own sleep and dreams could not dispel or break the spell of the day that had never seemed to dawn.

Is what he thought as he trickled towards the volcano.

Three children had encircled the volcano. All three were about Little Simon’s age. One was his next-door neighbor. This was Maddie.

And when Little Simon came upon them it was only Maddie who looked up to see him coming. A kind expression on her face.

This Maddie, Little Simon, was thinking, was his only real friend. But he also knew that Maddie was moving away. Her family was taking her to Tennessee, where they had a ranch.