Monday, January 05, 2009
A Stand for Sparrow
The quarter-circle table looked better in a different corner.
It used to lie in the northern corner of the room, where sunlight dared not venture for fear of the house across the road stealing its vitality and that worked well enough for Alison’s bunches of sweetgrass and sage, both of which retained their scent more readily when dried out of the sunlight.
Now, with Sparrow back, Alison had moved the table to a position where it got the sun most of the day. She’d always been a peaky child, more prone to lounging on the sofa with her father than in exploring the world outdoors. “It’s boring, mum,” she used to say as a teenager. “There’s nothin’ to do outside.”
It was a far cry from Alison’s youth where the television was an accessory to pleasure and not a replacement for it. In her day they would leave in the morning and not come back until tea time. The streets were safer then but Alison was convinced they were as safe now if you stuck together with your friends. Not that Sparrow would be hanging about the streets. Those days were long gone.
“There you are love,” she said, arranging her daughter’s skull where it would catch the best of the sunshine. “That’ll bring a smile to your face.”