childhood slowly returning...

Can you hear
the whisper of stars...?

The first birds of dawn are stirring outside my window,
I open it to let in their song.

Stretching like a cat,
I stumble upstairs for breakfast...

Looking down
from the balcony of my apartment,
I see
tangled in the branches of trees:
tiny cars.

Four hot air balloons
drift slowly over dawn's sleepy skyline,
reminding me of a page
from my
(her/our)
favourite book.

Spring embraces,
sunlight tingles the hairs on my arm.
Her rays transform me.

I smile to myself
like I am the first person on earth
to invent smiling.

I crave avocado & goat's cheese,
but make do with my weetbix & milk.

I am a boy again,
the world awaits me.
I have finally shaken off the big city...

I trade it all in for wide 'Cookie Monster' eyes,
a sense of wonder & adventure.

Later that day,
at the National Gallery of Victoria...

I'm (somewhat)
relieved to find
that I am still that little boy;

You know the one.

The one who
(trying to peer in just that little bit further
than everyone else)
still hits his head on
museum & gallery
glass displays & windows.

Can you hear
the whisper of stars...?

It is really
the sounds of

childhood
slowly
returning.

(c) Brent M Harpur, 2011.

"I see through my eyes, not with them." (William Blake)