There is a man peering down a hole in China. The man is bent over,
very intent on staring down the hole where dark shadows mask almost
everything. Fireworks rattle sparrows from the trees. The hole is a
very square hole, a manhole in a courtyard where a building is under
construction among other buildings. It is a tight fit. Perhaps the
hole travels clear to the other side of the world and sunlight is a
mere pinprick in the far distance. Fizz, bang and crackle of fireworks
stops as suddenly as it began. The bad spirits have all run away. In a
corner of the courtyard, beside the wide trunk of an old oak tree, a
young woman raises her voice at the young man beside her – raises her
voice to tell him how she sees it. He hangs his head and wishes he was
somewhere other than where he is. The fireworks explode again. As a
child I was somewhere else – on the west coast of Australia. And I dug
such a hole. Round. I dug and I dug and my brother said we would soon
reach China if I kept digging, so I kept digging. My mother raised her
voice and I hung my head, wishing I was somewhere else. Now I am in
China watching a man staring down a hole at a small boy's freckled
face sweating as he digs in the sunshine. Suddenly he looks up –
fireworks!
--
Andrew
http://hispirits.blogspot.com/
http://www.inblogs.net/hispirits
http://www.flickr.com/photos/aburke/
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