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Date Posted: 10:22:07 04/22/01 Sun
Author: Rafaél
Subject: An Irresponsible study, or two

An Irresponsible study, or two



The duck-weed, liberally scattered across ponds surface, converging as the ripples
cease, the reflections, once more depict surrounding landscape.
Grubby hands dip in and out grabbing tadpoles, their black mass wriggling in every
direction in an effort to escape their impending capture.
Croaking frogs amongst the lilies, immature barely able to lift their platform leaves
enough to completely break surface tension.
Innocence prevailed amongst children of these times, nicknames far less personal, in-
fact their deed or misfortune often giving a clue amongst friends.
“Spoke” as he was known, since his wooden sword jammed through one the wheels
of his bike, was also quite an opinionated seven year old boy.
“Lucy” had not yet, had the luxury of being given a nick-name, she along with Spoke,
had endless! It seemed in their eyes, days of being free, other than the inconvenience
school.
Spoke actually seemed to like her name, she liked bugs too, which was always a good
place to start! or his love of catapults, which frequently got him into all kinds of
trouble.
Lucy, was slightly older and had the status of being an eight year old,, this in some
small way, made her appear a more credible ally for this seven year old.
Today her hair was matted, the bottom of the smelly pond, methane bubbling to the
top, had during the tadpole capture, flown far and wide along the banks.
Spoke, sat with a piece of grass hanging from his mouth, he had the annoying
tendency, of grasping the single blade in his hands, then blowing across it to create
a loud, ear-splitting noise, much to Lucy’s disgust.
He kept the large pickling jar with its writhing contents, close by his side, as covered
in the thick repugnant mud as he, sloshing as he moved around the bank.
He liked her name, in fact he liked her more than he openly admitted, in his eyes she
was as cool as he, well when she agreed with him anyway.
Lucy, was given the task of pushing his bike as they made off with their collection of
tadpoles, wriggling in the afternoon sunlight, reflecting the chaos of their capture.
At Spoke’s house, there was a huge tank, filled with water and plants, newts and other
creatures he had collected during the late spring, such was his fascination.
Lucy wrinkled her nose, and much of her face, as he indicted to her, to pay attention
as his giant African snail, slowly emerged from its shell, sprouting horns, with eyes
on stalks.
Yuk, that’s disgusting spoke, the creature now fully emerged, propelling it’s-self
slowly across the glass lid of the tank, leaving behind a glistening silver trail.
Lucy soon grew tired of his complete preoccupation with his snail and suggested
that they went tree climbing in the orchard.
Spoke, reluctantly placed the snail in its container, snapping the roughly punctured
lid in place, on the transparent plastic tub.
He smiled, then patted her shoulder saying “you’re it” last one to the acorn tree stinks
then ran off through the rickety garden gate.
The thundering ground under their feet, as they ran along the narrow path worn by
many expectant forays, the dead grass either side rustling rhythmically
A gnarled twisted oak, bursting into view, short grass giving way to ash pan soil in-
between, where fires had burned, through searing summer days.
The pair in turn, grabbing a rope, swinging across the narrow ditch, Spoke, went first,
after all he got there last, so it was only fair, after all.
The orchard, un-kempt no longer harvested, had become a small jungle in their eyes,
giant hog-weed umbrellas, the cuckoo-pint allegedly could kill if one touched its stem.

Lucy, sat clawing at her grass stained knees, where nettles just beginning to rise
stung above grass, had escaped her keen eye as she knelt down.
Spoke, had decide for some good reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, to
demonstrate his climbing skills, much to Lucy’s amusement as he fell crashing
through the dense bracken, emerging red-faced, and speechless.
Both laying on their backs, they squinted upwards at the shafts of light falling
through the leafy canopy above, Lucy, began pointing her finger in circles around
one of the beams.
Her finger, every now and then interrupting the light, she watched intently as the
countless particles danced, sparkling, like airborne dew.
“I command the light” her giggles followed this statement immediately.
“But I have the sun” Spoke, replied throwing a handful of dried debris into the
beams, the explosion of scattered light, pausing their conversation.

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