Firepetals

It would warm
any fantasy writer’s heart

this magical pillow fort

constructed in Franna’s
Spare Oom
during Christmas

Never mind the season

for in the hands of the creator
everything is made new

like the Halloween tree
guarding the inner tent entrance

a cone adorned with
black and orange ornaments
has become a pillar
of ember and ash
cascading into firepetals
(left over from a wedding)
where chunks of stars
(harvested from an old
crib mobile)
have come to rest

much like the creator herself
savoring the fruits of her labors
(having been aided by Franna
and Big Sister, definitely magical)

now stretching out on her back
little bare feet
to the firepetals

cozy and content

clutching her baby
while gazing up through the window
at the wintersky

for, as any fantasy writer knows,

worldbuilding is hard work

not to mention
most gratifying

The worldbuilder, age 3, resting in her fort with her doll “Jape” on her chest

And a little child shall lead

This is a story of two brothers not in the Bible, not Cain who was angry with Abel over his offering and slew him, not Esau who might have done the same to Jacob save for their mother’s intervention (after her part in the division), but of two little boys in the current millenia, carrying school breakfast trays, as the older begins shouting at the younger and a teacher steps in.

What’s the matter? Why are you shouting at him? The rest of us do not appreciate hearing those kinds of words, says the teacher.

The smaller boy stops in front of the teacher. His bright face is utterly untroubled. It’s okay. You see, I am his brother.

The teacher pauses. You are used to this.

The bigger brother turns back, face like a thundercloud, voice blasting: And I dropped my freakin’ biscuit!

You can get another one, begins the teacher, when the younger boy takes off running, calling his brother’s name. The teacher follows in case intercession is needed.

Here, says the little one. You can have my biscuit.

The teacher blinks back tears. You don’t want your biscuit?

The little boy shakes his head. He places the proffered bread on his brother’s tray.

The older brother’s face eases. Anger abates; tentative calm settles in.

Thank you, he says, his voice low.

You owe your brother an apology, says the teacher, after the way you have just been shouting at him.

I’m sorry, he says. He turns away, but not before the teacher sees deep sadness in his eyes.

Wait! calls his little brother. You can have my jelly, too. You like jelly on your biscuit.

The teacher bends down to whisper in his ear: That is a beautiful thing you just did.

The brothers go off together in peace. The teacher watches, awed and humbled. The morning is still new, the day has only just begun, an unholy moment has been transfomed by a child’s purehearted act of sacrifical love, in his offering of bread and grape jelly.

The teacher thinks: If the world ended right now, I’d die having witnessed one of life’s greatest acts. Oh, to be so selfless, to learn the unforced rhythms of grace, to follow that child’s lead!

The bell rings.

Work awaits

Biscuit. Joshua Heyer. CC BY-SA

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with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Challenge