Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Lately I've been having trouble dropping off to sleep. Anxious thoughts scrabble inside my brain, yet if I was asked to pinpoint what this anxiety is about, I'd be hard put to do so. It's as if my compass needle cannot decide where north is. I hope it rights itself soon.
At the kindergarten where I was working today, a boy searched the sky looking for the daytime moon. Thinking that the present phase of the moon must be rather small by now, I suggested that it might be too difficult to locate the moon today. Undeterred, he kept looking. Then he smiled and pointed with some triumph, "There it is!"
And indeed there it was, north-east, as faint and wispy as a milk-moustache.
Each day this week one of the children at the kindy has noticed the daytime moon. A child pointed to it the other day saying, "The moon's going fast." I looked up to see the moon appearing to race across the sky, without really moving anywhere. It was strange, because as far as I could judge, there weren't any clouds rushing by to cause the effect.
Later that day at the car wash I had the same sensation of virtual movement as the revolving, giant brushes approached, making it appear that the car was also moving forward. I remember as a child at the beach, standing at the water's edge and looking down at rapidly retreating waves, feeling the sand being sucked out from under my feet, making it feel and look as if they were taking me out to sea with them.
The funniest thing I've heard this week so far is probably the four year old who while eating crisps was asked by his friend if he could have one too, to which the chip-chomper smartly replied, "Sorry, not today, buddy."
Sometimes I think four-year olds may very well represent the whole world, in miniature.