THE
SILKEN ROBE
The pictures on the silken robe of the child are filled with stars.
I want to have a closer look. I want to touch the softness of the fabric that holds the wonder draping the tiny figure. All of him is covered save the round bit of face peeking above the voluminous collar standing straight up in the air like that.
I notice the smallest of fingertips just beneath the long sleeves.
The child laughs and the stars of embroidery jump as if startled. I myself sneeze, letting loose an avalanche of tears that shake about, leaving drops of dew-like crystals all around and on my hands.
The child smiles at me, fastening into me a penetrating look that emblazons my soul. My answering smile rises from deep within; the radiance of that solemn gesture has opened my heart and filled with light an emptiness long since become unconscious.
This look has taken only a moment but my mind now remembers no other time. I become bold -- emboldened to ask the question long in my heart.
Why do we not believe in happiness?
Words & Pictures © by Arlene Graston
All Rights Reserved
