El caballito

We took for granted the good weather we did not think of it the grass grew beneath our feet between the cracks of ladrillos blood red, tanned by years of sun and rain.

We did not think of it as not having a real body or the body being a stick the head was rubber, and it rode. Mine was called Silver before I knew what it meant.

It takes time to understand what time does to people and things. It takes time to learn to look back and grasp what it all meant. The lizards contemplated our journeys and the tree house was the jail.

Some years later I'd read Tagore, playing with toy soldiers on a sand duvet.