the recluse

a slightly feminine, anemic, elderly man shoves his body weight into pushing forward his lawn-mower, he pulls back and pushes forth the mower over a little patch of dead grass.

a happy, young, toothless woman sweetly, softly hums a little sing-song lullaby. each note of tiny dancer sounds pretty and breathy and Glad.

a warm-skinned child is alone somewhere. on a highspeed-train and on a grey-blue bus the boy travels. he goes to the coast, somewhere far, and runs to the sea and up to the crashing white-capped tide. his freckled body is naked beneath a brown fox fur-coat. his nimble fingers double check each button and he crawls slowly into the deep. someone somewhere kneels on the bottom of the sea, his hands quickly feeling the briny floor soothing his palms. he crawls out again and rises up from the ocean, his sodden fur clings to his frame. he crashes softly into the ecru flecks of sand and supports his neck in his hands.
Back home lace shade curtains flutter gently, gracefully; a traditional, colloquial woman is seen sipping from behind a cup of earl grey. and when the peppy boychild would hum or wistle she would spill her tea and then quicklycleanitup.
Later, at the park, the boy's fur begins to dry under the beating orange globe's perspiration, whilst simultaneously melting his picnic lunch.
there are gobs of honey dripping onto his fur-coat,
he rubs it in with his oatmeal colored fingers, it creates a mixture with the coastal sand and hardens like concrete. and the boy begins to walk down the street with sweeping steps and a little skip and not a tiny hint of calamity. o'er head the sun and the blue blue bluesky are beating down on him so he squints up at it, and there is a tiny, low-hanging deep grey cloud and it travels toward him, and then with him.
he feels a single drop on his head then not a moment later the rain begins to pour so heavy; and on the boy's face a smile grows, bigger and ever expanding, the happy. the Happy recluse.