Little girls in a field of flowers
|Everywhere when looking from behind, there is a special glance at backwards of what once was. It is now gone. It is time stopped, history made, preserved like jam inside a jar, only a lost memory between the pages of a book, to be kept in storage, set between the others on a dusty shelf forever; a fleeting thought less solid in the ephemeral scheme of things, never to be repeated as exactly as before when it first came out and about for no particular reason.
The past no longer works as it once did. It works no longer because within that instance of its passing, history is made, sealed and done, there stored forever as the past, a memory, never to return.
Moving forward is the first breath of Spring, fresh air brought on with yummy flowers aromatic flavors soft and gentle on the breeze to fill the lungs with happiness of simply being alive; taken for the first time as the new world unravels with surprise or so it is with Miss Prissy, who is already running for the door with bouncing curly hair, long locks of golden flowing prettiness which accompany her back home in time for dinner.
Being that she was of the tender age of twelve, not having much of a past to look back on to begin with, It could be surmised that she has much to look forward to in a future world, like the sun filled, becoming newer with the days and sunshine to lead the way. Each in there own way and having nothing better to do, carve out an existence that is always new.
Prissy enters the house beaming with joy. Her cat Timmy raises a long white tail in approval. Her dog Max licks her on the cheek. Mom and dad are scrambling around the house looking for a key. The young girl has no interest in such mundane matters. Trivial things are such a bore. In her orbit around herself, self absorbed as that might seem, she has this personal moment of urgency in the moment of the now. Concerning the moment in question, she dashes for a very needed release behind the bathroom door. In her frenzy to release and relieve herself of some bodily fluids in their immediacy to be released, she reflects on how wonderful it is to savor such a moment in the pause that refreshes everything so she can be calmed down.
After enjoying a well earned dinner of shrimp and pumpkin pie by simply being pretty and alive, Prissy returns once again to her activities outdoors from whence she came, once more to join the day, the clarity, the beauty, the splendor and warmth of nature and all that’s in it pertaining to play.
The sun will shine on her forever according to her thinking. It is her friend more or less for now as long as rain is kept away.
Open space brings life. Here comes the sun to join her in her fun, glowing yellow, raining down from heaven with a comforting heat, riding down, surfing on beams of perfect light from its place of origin, open to the causality of the universe with all that open space to breath in time, to bring joy to a little girl, bouncing around in her little girl curls, long and blonde springing into action in a juxtaposition to her skinny self, flowing disjointedly to the rhythm of her head and motion of her body, skipping along so merrily on the lawn.
Just over the rise by the canyon pass stands the camel hills., an extended clump of tiny knolls, a series of humps, mounds really, filling in the landscape for childhood play and pleasure. Her cute friend Santa will be joining her shortly for tea and crumpets. (Real tea. Real crumpets. Yummy!)
Her pretty little friend is about ten or so she says. Santa has a problem with the truth and sometimes with reality. When confronted directly for telling lies, she offers up beguiling smiles in place of explanations. She refers to lies as fibs, changes the subject like flipping off a switch and in an instance you forget about the inference and continue on about your business.
There is nothing more important than pink. Purple is close but it is not pink. Prissy knows what she likes while skipping over the tall grass, spinning in circles while her dainty red dress parachutes out as she jumps up. The fields open up their secrets to her without delay. Rainbow flowers are everywhere up and down and over the tiny mounds and hills, placed there by God Himself or one of His agents working overtime for favors.
Santa comes tumbling over the horizon with smiles and rosy cheeks, waving with both hands to greet Ms. Prissy who is waving back from quite a distance. They run and dance and laugh, sure to make collisions if not caution when they stop. If they are not careful in their decisions once they meet, racing at each other at full speed, who knows what might happen somewhere in the middle of such things.
It is such a nice day for a tea party.
The two girls went on and on about the silly things of life, a couple of regular chatter boxes there to talk and have some fun. They scurried up the large oak tree in the center of the field to the tree house at the top awaiting them. Using a homemade ladder made of branches and nails, all built and placed there by Prissy’s dad, who has some carpentry skills in addition to his ability to lose keys.
While filing up on green nectar tea and stuffing themselves full of yummy crumpets, Prissy asked Santa about her parents. “Santa, how come I’ve never seen your mom and dad?” “Are they nice?” Santa replies, “I have no parents.” “I was hatched.”
Prissy seemed somewhat taken aback by the answer, even surprised, but not really, being that her friend had a propensity to avoid the truth. That is, if it were not worth consideration, or in her best interest or useful or on her agenda of the day. Santa was only ten years old but she was smart and wise in the ways of the world. She noticed the bewildered look on her older friends face. The “hatched” comment was in need of further explanation so she elaborated. “The shell I came from was pink and covered with white dots.” Prissy’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. Santa had such a lovely ivory complexion and pretty pink skin. She must have come from a pretty pink polka-dotted shell. That only made sense. “Would you like some more tea Santa while it is still hot?” The younger girl smiled, batted her long eyelashes like butterflies on a gentil wing and replied, “Why yes I think I will!” “And do you have some milk and honey dear?”
Later on they climbed back down to the mound covered field. They rolled around in the tall grass and certainly killed a lot of vegetation in the process. Prissy in her red dress blended nicely with the rainbow flower mix. Santa had on her pink party dress. The tree house vicinity was covered mostly in pink carnations so she could almost conceal herself within them and in her shyness she could hide.
God and his agents might not be considered to have much importance or authority these days. In fact parents have a tendency to remove Him and His friends from the equation but we still have the pretty flowers there to gaze on and little girls not quite ready to blossom or open up about the truth. With a little effort and a little luck we can put it all behind us and call it history. Girls just want to have a good time. Prissy in red, Santa wearing pink, pretty as a picture for the time being in a self made heaven in a bed of flowers hiding.