But she stayed to watch the little girl swing
Unaware that she also roamed the halls
After school was over for the day.
The story spun like cotton candy.
Up the stairs one at a time
Paste wax on the railings, door ajar
The little girl tiptoed in, sat on the floor
While ribbons of melody floated off the bow
A smile bestowed by the cellist.
One day when the little girl slipped in again
She found someone else in the room
Who invited her in, all the same.
The room lit like a holy card
With an angel sitting where the cellist had been.
The swing started slowly as Granny pushed
Stepping back she watched the little legs pump
Higher and swifter the trees came closer
Reaching her bare feet to touch the leaves
Bunny paws, sun on the ditch bank, she felt
Strong arms carry her home.
Her head tied with a clean dishtowel,
The little girl cried to see her own blood
And cried because of Granny’s fear. Why?
I wanted wings like the angel I met.
I thought I could fly,
But I changed my mind.
A discerning scar now
Marks the place in her unfolding symphony.
This happy ending brought to you by Sunday Scribblings. You can read more, or add your own here.