Grandma Thistle waded through the thick, moist, knee-high lawn of purple clovers, deftly grabbing at the tiny grasshoppers which were bounding aimlessly about. Two and three at a time, they found themselves in a plastic jar which hung snugly in Thistle's arm-pit.

Mercy, just slightly over four-and-a-half-years-old, crouched triumphantly on the branch of a tree just slightly over five feet off the ground. "Gramma, watch," Mercy choaked after not having vocalized for several minutes while climbing the tree, "me!"

"Oh, I'm always watching you my dear," Thistle's voice flowed from her with the coarseness, firmness, and calm, which come from old age, experiense, and peace, somehow confirming her words, despite how she was looking in nearly the opposite direction.

"No... watch me!"

Thistle quickly tossed a few more grasshoppers into the jar and looked up at Mercy. Both were smiling and squinting in the harsh mid-day sun which would have been covered by clouds had this been the day previous or following. She gave a short, little nod, indicating he had her attention, and permission to proceed with whatever scene he had been plotting since he began ascending the tree.

Not for the first time, Mercy felt the whole world inside him, and outside him. The tree above him, thinly scattered with leaves, let red-orange rays of sunlight dance calmly around his limbs. He felt the energy of the sun above, and the world around him, and the excitement of the stage, which his Grandmother's eyes provided for him. This was his day, for yesterday was not right, and tomorrow was certianly not looking promising.

A small crystal tear grew in Thistle's eye, slowly dislodged itself, meandered down her cheak, and jumped off her chin into the lawn.

"Alright." Mercy breathed to himself as he slowly, and deliberatly stood up on the branch. Rubbing his hands together, and closing his eyes, he launched himself into the air.

Aproaching the apex of his jump, time seemed to slow. The light, which had caressed him on the tree branch, had not stayed on the branch, but seemed to follow him in his leap. It flew around his body and into his skin, while the wind from his jump brushed back his short, wavy hair, and rippled his clothes.

Time was moving slower, and smoother, and as he reached the top of his curve, he was glowing almost too brightly for Thistle to look at him. She quickly blinked, and noticed that where Mercy had just been, hundreds of tiny grasshoppers were now falling into the lawn below them. Upon diving into the clovers, the grasshoppers quickly diffused throughout the lawn, and all was uniform.

Standing still for just a moment, Thistle then bent over, and tossed a grasshopper into the jar.

~ david rbV - May 2003