RS, Author, Novelist, Prosaist#WordWeavers 2026.04.07 —Look around and describe an object as if it were a mysterious item (no name, no idea of it's purpose).
It was spherical, nearly perfectly geometrically so. Not a ball for throwing, though very colorful if now quite dirty and dusty. Not geometrical like a foosball or a paddleball, and bigger than both, which probably stopped the children from mischief. Hollow, they discovered shaking it with the excuse to knock off leaves. Maybe made of wood or shellacked paper, then painted? Lines circled it, and boys figured out those squiggles were words because the eldest 5 years 2 months had been given an alphabet slate. The lines went vertically and horizontally; they remind Tomeas of the segments of an orange cut into two halves, but presented on the exterior. Much of the outside was blue. The rest was painted like mud spread randomly lengths and widths across the surface, sometimes green, sometimes yellow or brown, sometimes, but only at either end, white. The gaggle (typically as pleasant as a murder of crows) should have been out foraging, but they goggled at it for minutes, then wisely decided not to play with it but to call their parents over to where the hill had caved in, revealing all sort of wonders beside what they almost mistook for an overlarge toy.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
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