Sira, your feelings were hurt, as they often are, you are sensitive, over small things I don't remember what. You were beat. I watched your little body saunter slowly down the long rocky driveway, shoulders rounded, head down. Your bare feet shuffling up dust. You're wearing nothing but little boy underwear, backwards, the elastic stretched out. A mouse mask is around your shoulder. What a bitter sweet site. My little boy is running away. I catch up with you, hold your warm body, say soft things. We pick flowers in the meadow for Grandma Di before turning back home. The world is alright again. Until we return and envy cries out. One by one I take each brother back to the meadow to pick more flowers. The world is good. Now can we eat?
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