By Ken McGrath
There’s an elderly Indian man who sits each day on the bench by the edge of our park. He’s been there for years, growing older. We watch him sometimes from the swings and slides. The bigger kids, the ones who smoke, call him names and say nasty things. But he never looks over, just sits quietly staring at the trees.
Mum says he’s harmless but warns us to stay away. She says he lost someone.
Sometimes, when it rains, I see him holding his hands out and then blue sparks dance on his fingertips. When this happens, it looks like love.
Gives you a warm and chilly feeling both at the same time. Pleasingly mysterious!
I really liked this one-i wonder if the author writes poetry, too.
Excellent story with lots of depth.—
Good images.
Beautiful, enchanted mystery. Thank you.
Beautiful. Well crafted magic.
Strange but beautiful. I’m not sure about it looking like love but the narration is lovely 🙂