I knew that there was a story in the bronze-colored girl's stepping from behind a tree and into my path that sunny day in February in Golden Gate Park. Anyone could have seen that though. I mean anyone.
Consider this: I'm riding my bicycle through the park and it's a beautiful day. Sun's smiling, sky's friendly, I have no cares. I'm pedaling slowly, threading my way through tapestry crowds, warming up for a good, hard ride.
Ahead of me, just before the handball courts, there's a turn in the path. There, from behind a mossy eucalyptus tree steps a bronze-colored girl, about eight years of age. She has sad eyes and hair black and shiny as a panther's. In her hands she holds a small, orange plastic bowl and a yellow colander. Without hesitating—you know how bold children can be—her head turns, tilts back, her eyes meet mine and she asks:
"Have you seen any butterflies today?"
I paused and turned on my bicycle. I looked back toward her. "No," I told her. "I'm sorry,
I haven't." She gazed at me blankly, nodded slightly, and then turned and walked away. I looked at her small back, her pretty figure, the plastic kitchen utensils in her hands. Then I turned and rode on.
Now do you see my point, about the story? The story is ours. It is yours, it is mine. It is the bronze-colored girl's. We have all been twilled into a gentle fabric that can be as strong as steel mail or as fine as lace. The choice is ours.
She was a bronze-colored girl, about eight. She wore a plaid skirt, a sleeveless blouse, and her arms were dirty and scratched. Her feet were bare.
In her hands she held an orange plastic bowl and a yellow colander. She had pretty teeth, hair like a panther's, and sad sparkling eyes. I never found out her story, but there was one there, all right.
Anyone could have seen that.
Original website content (text, graphics, look & feel)
Authors, Photographers & Artists retain the copyright for their individual work(s) on this website.
Unauthorized reproduction without prior permission is a violation of copyright laws.