Pablo Luis González
A flash of bright pink on the corner of my vision. I glance down. the pinkness is a girl, or a young woman, running. She disappears behind the block of garages.
Seconds later, she reappears, she has something in her arms, embracing it. Looks like a baby, it cannot be, the way she is holding it. This “she” is a girl, a child of ten, perhaps. The brightness of her pink trousers shouts out of the grey rain covered ground. Even the grass looks that shade of grey. She is dancing, a dance which is as colourful as her clothing, holding the baby doll in her hands, tightly embraced.
She is gyrating gyrating gyrating, her radiant face raised to the sky. She kisses the doll, a monkey doll? She disappears pirouetting, the doll raised to the sky, too.
The moment lingers, I look outside, it is no longer grey rain what I see…