Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
The little boy kicked the dirt and dust that was one lawn in his mother’s backyard. The dust clouds exploded under his feet and settled slowly and gently back onto the ground. He scratched and scraped until boredom demanded another task. He pulled off the Autumnal leaves that popped off the branches almost in relief. He studied the veins and lifelines of the almost but not yet crunchy leaves, then screwed them up and watch the slowly ragain their shape.
In the distance he heard the changing of gears of a motorbike and the brakes of a big truck.
Soon he felt it coming. And then he saw it. At first a speck in the sky and then its shape formed. It was the man. The man with the tanned arms and rough leathery hands. This, he thought, was what a man’s hands should look like and feel like. The strong brown arms picked him up and lifted him into the air. The two flew up high into and above the clouds, then swooped towards the backyard. In a big swinging arc they flew over the neighbourhood. Over the school, the park, the footy ground.
He saw his mum in the backyard and he gave her a wave, she waved back smilingly. The man flew him home, let him go and scruffed up his hair. A wink and a return wink.
And the little boy laughed just to feel such joy.
And the dish ran away with the spoon.