06 October 2005

Siaran Tergendala Sebentar

A little meadow on the side of a gently rolling hillside, is teased gently by the breeze. The long grass bends in waves like the sea in the wind. At the top of the meadow is a little hut that leans a little to the left in a slightly weary fashion. Even the smoke that floats up from the chimney shares the lethargy. It wafts erratically in several directions before wafting slowly away into the sunset.

A little figure is outlined in the lamplight. Scribbling furiously, the little one works away amid stacks of paper. There occasional sounds of dissatisfaction, then another sheet is crumpled up and binned. And the writing goes on.

Sat at desk in a smock, the little one peers at pages of spidery script through dusty eyeglasses. The scrawling stops and plink looks up. Frowning at first, then smiling conspiratorially, plink whispers, 'Shh... Go away. I'll be done in a couple of days.'

I promise....


Post a Comment

<< Home