Monday, August 11, 2008


Who would have the nerve to question what they were seeing as those kids spit into the face of gravity, defied physics, and navigated the stairs as if they had been raised on them?
Their mother emerged from the house to once again admonish them, and she saw us watching the kids. She saw they way we looked at them- the way people watched beautiful swans or gymnasts- quietly, almost afraid, but enthralled.
She saw her kids defy the law of not only her, but of man, their God, and the universe.
She wanted to yell at them again, but she could not. Something deep inside her kept her from destroying this beautiful thing that had begun. Something inside her knew that it would be a crime to stop this.
Even with all that damn noise the kids were making running up and down those damn stairs it was a crime, she thought, to kill a unicorn.
So she simply rolled her eyes, and went inside.
Sure it was beautiful, she thought.
Sure they were pioneers, she thought.
But perhaps it was best if she let them continue until one of them fell. It was the only way they’d learn, she thought.
They never fell, though. Never. They ran all day. And they never fell.
Not today.


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