leithian

by tobias crabtree

there’s this one girl. she knows a lot. she walks with a long ropey braid clear down her back. she is made from two people that are both wonders of the world. so she is too.

yesterday, she crawled through the back window into the patch of sun where i was drawing. she brought me an umbrella with a duck-head handle. she brought a smaller umbrella for herself. there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and i asked if she thought it might rain. she said that “it could” and, when i thought about it, i figured her to be right.

she saw that i was drawing a sand-dollar. i had a real sand-dollar from her yard in my lap. she smiled and clasped her hands as she realized what i was doing.

“i cleaned that sand-dollar myself,” she said, “and i held it carefully in my hand, and i appreciated all it’s shapes and everything.”

that is what she said.

leithian is her name, she is 5 years old.

i am better because of her…and so is the world.