The Parable of the Yesterday Child

Mornings meant toast. Toast meant apple butter. And apple butter meant ... ? He forgot. Sometimes he would remember. But not this time. Sometimes his brother would write clues and leave them under his pillow. Or behind his great aunt's knitting bag. Maybe other places, but he wasn't sure. He was very short and some special places were very high. You see, he lived in the biggest house on all of Dandelion Street. Which crossed Verbena, which crossed Maravilla. Mmm, or was it Mandrigora? But he had never been that far so it was perfectly OK. Some days he could count all of the stairs in the whole house. Not all of the days. He had never seen a mirror.

Some days he would listen to the hummingbirds whispering. All the way from his orange juice to his lunch. Some days he would hang from the old willow's branches and sing to the spiders. His song today would be of black holes and event horizons. Maybe words n tra la la bout dark matter. But dark matter was a troublesome thing and he wouldna want to disappoint the spiders.

If he closed his eyes tight tight tight. If he shut out the sun and his father and his heart noise. And if he could think just right. Sometimes, sometimes he could walk backwards. Into yesterday.

By the Bay.