These are beads that have lived.
These are beads that have seen it all, the playground and asphalt, the corners of the earth in the forest next door. They remember the texture, softness and warmth of the hands of children who were held in the hollow of their palms. They remember the violence of the shock, and pleasure, hidden in the iris of the little guy, the girl, who had proudly earned.
The beads have a story. They are the victories, they are failures. They liked the victory, a little less these failures. These failures are synonymous farewell. Since their creation, they know it is their lot, to pass from hand to hand. They find new homes that are welcoming. Most often, these houses are pockets, pockets velvet pockets with holes, pockets full of crumbs, because they are filled the last cookie that did not feel like eating. The beads
tell their stories to those who know the look. The beads know the difference between seeing and looking. The beads are learning that shade to those who observe them.
It was courageous. A full afternoon sun, when the children had their eyes blinded with light, she was violently thrown against a stone. She lost a bit, a tiny bit, but the ball knows it has crippled the value for the little girl who won it, because this little girl has always loved the cracks, even if she does not know yet exactly what it is. This one is sublime, because by looking good, it filters all the rays of the sun and becomes kaleidoscope. It must be up, up into the sky. Right: it is blue! A Left: it is green!
Once launched, nothing stopped them. They whirl and twirl. They fly and fall to earth. They rush and strike. Joy to type on it, another joy of this aim. The hand is the instrument, not the ball. You will be mine. It's a cruel game: one player will learn the meaning of renunciation. We think, a little, just because there are few children to cry for a few lost balls. Some, however, have cried a lot when he had to give to another, the victor, horrible hated conqueror. We retain his tears in front of him, especially not tremble, and gesture is noble when to give. But under the pillow, the tears flow.
All this is injustice, and sacrifice has been enormous.
Balls are magical. Very few know. Their name is a call to travel. The fight was tough, so we need to rest, lying down on the ground, one arm folded behind his head and one arm resting on the ground, his hand on the grass, where the ants are busy, and think of Cat's Eye, Porcelain, Tornado and Calot, that we'll soon shake in his hands until the pain.
Cat's Eye is the one that sparkles. Porcelain is more discreet. Cap is the strongest of all. They are made of glass or earthenware, and are round like the iris.
It touches the ball in the pocket. The roll under your fingers, feel the gentle one, the roughness of the other, to gently collide to stream their own music. Looking at them, touch them, again and again. The
hide, well sheltered, when you have more time to play. Because we have more time to play. But the hide, because we know their value, and regardless of the passage of time. They will be there. In the shelter. I hide from you because I love you. I will go before you, from time to time, and the memories come back. And sometimes, as the hours, days and nights, it is possible that this is painful, but never mind!
A crossing time. The hours passed so quickly ...
One day a cat paw clumsily brought down the potty. No reaction. While the body is frozen, his mouth opened with a silent scream. This is a crime of lese-majeste. We can not stop the fall of the jar. We see it hit the ground, breaking into a thousand pieces, you see the ball rolling. And they resume, as before, their wild ride. We laugh, because it is impossible not to laugh. The heart is racing and the hand remembers perfectly, gesturing to have. Pick them up, hold them gently in the hollow of the palm. The balls have not forgotten. No one has forgotten. The memories are there, because they always been there.
It's time for recess.
And then, kneeling on the floor of a small chamber ill row, I start a game of marbles with wonderful cats.
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