Little children.

This morning as I sat on my usual bench smoking, a young lady with a small child in a push-chair stopped to speak with me.

As we sat chatting I constantly watched the child, and so wished that I could once again
view this world and its many wonders through the eyes of a child.

My tired old eyes have witnessed many things, both wonderful and ghastly, in their many years of being used, and abused.

The many common-place things that drew the child’s attention also sharpened my attention on its reactions.
How it longed to speak about the many things that interested it.
The many questions that it longed to ask of its mother.
Poor girl, that day will arrive all too soon.

Another young woman stopped to speak, and immediately each child began to chatter to the other.
How wonderful it would have been had I been able to translate each utterance, but I wasn’t able to, unfortunately.
Just what were they saying to each other?

I’m sorry to ramble on in this way, but these things do occupy my mind so very often.
I delight in conjuring up my own answers to the questions that I pose.

Ah well, back to the essays. Speak to you all again soon.