|Life on a pale wall|
In their frantic escape from the glass jar, father and son took off scurrying down the sidewalk in opposite directions. The moonlight shimmered on their tiny backs, and in their haste, I wondered if either one ever turned around and notice their divergent paths.
With my glass jar in hand, I went back to my pale walls. Wherever their new paths lead, I hope they'll be happy. I hope their slender legs carry them to where they belong. And I hope they meet again before too long. I like to imagine the father will turn around, wonder what is behind him, what he left, and what it was that made him hurry away and forget what was once most important.