ONE IN ALL, WE’RE ALL THE SAME /// Danielle Walden

was in itself a form of creativity which seems to have stood them in good stead in adulthood. They are sound, brave and good men. What more could one ask for?)

Suddenly, Ariel or Puck or Titania or whoever has been busy abusing my Caliban decides it is time to draw if the weather is bad, in which case I struggle with my pencil and pad while she and her brother draw pictures so fast it’s like watching a printing press. If the weather is good, it’s time to ride bikes, play catch, and roll on the front lawn. I toodle along behind the bikes, giving the occasional push if a hill is steep, or I try to throw balls or kick balls around the yard as well. If we were to graph their increasing athletic skills against my decreasing capabilities, the lines are about to cross. Rolling on the grass went out for me about thirty years ago. At 5PM precisely, they grab their backpacks, run to the car and, led by

Prospero, give me a ringing good bye as she drives them to their appropriate cave. The energy, the life force is gone and a deafening silence settles over the house once again. I sit down for a while and then begin to warm up, for Prospero’s return, whatever take-out we picked up in anticipation of how tired we would feel. I am exhausted. But I live in hope that, in seven days at two in the afternoon, those sprites will come dancing through our front door once again to create that loving pandemonium for which we thirst. And that, despite the political turmoil and my health issues, I will still be here to enjoy it.

THE END

ONE IN ALL, WE’RE ALL THE SAME

///Danielle Walden