(no subject)
There is a young girl out on the open grass, this afternoon, sitting in the style called 'Indian-style' at school (though Rae had never really known why it was called that - she had never heard of any Indians sitting like that). She holds an early flower cupped in her hands, bright yellow in the sunlight.
The girl is humming to herself, neither wholly tuneless nor seeking to follow any set tune, completely un-self conscious.
She closes her hands around the flower, and shuts her eyes, the humming fading to nothing in a moment of concentration. Her humming quickly begins again, as she opens her eyes and opens her hands cupping what had been a yellow flower - now the bright red cardinal's feather.
Rae hums, thinking to herself, and the cycle begins again. Each time she opens her hands, a different object - feather, leaf, twig, matchstick, and on - having replaced the one before.
The girl is humming to herself, neither wholly tuneless nor seeking to follow any set tune, completely un-self conscious.
She closes her hands around the flower, and shuts her eyes, the humming fading to nothing in a moment of concentration. Her humming quickly begins again, as she opens her eyes and opens her hands cupping what had been a yellow flower - now the bright red cardinal's feather.
Rae hums, thinking to herself, and the cycle begins again. Each time she opens her hands, a different object - feather, leaf, twig, matchstick, and on - having replaced the one before.