Story time

It is touching to see stories work their charm on a two year old. The eagerness with which she innocently enters the unknown world in the story, her impatience to know what comes next- will the poochakutty find a home?, her sorrowfilled eyes holding in its sympathetic gaze the rain drenched poochakutty , the sheer joy in her face at the happy ending - she comes out of each story changed in some intangible way. Every story lures her out of herself and her known world, teaches her to open up to the mysteries of life and immerse herself in the suffering and sorrows and happiness that is not her own. Each story makes her world richer. For how long will she be protected from knowing that all stories need not have a happy ending?

Mamma

Angelface sleeps, her fingers clutching mamma's hand, her head nestling over the crook of mamma's arm, her face tilted towards mamma's, mouth slightly open.
Open up my little flower, don't cling on to me
open windows into the world and into yourself, my little butterfly
fly far, soar high, give in to the lure of the blue skies
So mamma brings in a book.
Look, kitty has a red ball and bowbow has a blue ball. now here comes a little bowbow. why's little bowbow crying? kitty gives a yellow ball to little bowbow and look now little bowbow is happy and smiling
Baby sleeps clutching on to bowbow and kitty, her cheek resting on the book, legs outstretched as though ready for flight. And then mamma yearns to throw away the book and cradle her precious one in her arms.