Bright Blessings

He came every week. Never on the same street corner two weeks running, and that was half the fun.   Kids would run all over Bridgetown looking for him, The Balloon Man. We’d never seen balloons like his before. Always animals, but they were so real! Beasts of every shape and size, but that wasn’t the only surprise about our town balloon seller. After chasing all over town kids would eventually track him down. He only ever carried one balloon and we all wanted it, but being first in line had no bearing on who got the gift. He’d look at the kids, a slow, lazy consideration, and then he’d say the same thing every time: ‘Ah, that’s the one.’ He’d hand the balloon to the lucky kid, the rest of us pretty much green with envy, before walking away without further comment. Growing up we all wanted a balloon and I think most got one over the years. There didn’t seem to be much of an age limit. I’d seen kids as old as 12 handed a balloon, seen their eyes light up same as any ...

In autumn she came. She sat beneath the falling leaves, feared her memories would wither and fade with them. She gathered crumbling foliage to her, sympathised with their dried out existence, their willingness to release the world. Would she go with them? Did she have the nerve? The world was a husk without him.  In winter she came. She circled the monument, round and round, pacing out the minutes in a whirl of ephemeral flakes. She watched them melt on her hands, on her coat. Felt the stinging, fleeting touches on her cheeks. Would she ever leave the cold, the frozen silence? Could she melt and meld with the warmth of the world once more? Without him? In spring she came. Pale light, tentative warmth urging blossoms forth. Undercurrents of renewal, returning to the world after restorative sleep. Light breezes stirred her hair, crowned her with shed petals . Drifts piled around her feet. She kicked at the past blossoms, scattering them to the winds, tucked a spr...