THECHAMPAFLOWER

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SupposingIbecameachampaflower，justforfun，andgrewhupthattree，andshookihlaughterahenewlybuddedleaves，wouldyoukher?

Youwouldcall，“Baby，whereareyou?”

andIshouldlaughtomyselfaequiet.

Ishouldslylyopealsandwatchyouatyourwork.

&eryourbath，withreadonyourshoulders，youwalkedthroughtheshadowofthechampatreetothelittlecourtwhereyousayyourprayers，youwouldoftheflower，butnotknowthatite.

&hemiddaymealyousatatthewindRamayana，aree’sshadowfelloveryourhairandyourlap，Ishouldflileshadowontothepageofyourbook，justwherey.

Butwouldyouguessthatitwasthetinyshadowofyourlittlechild?

&heevenihecowshedwiththelightedlampinyourhand，Ishouldsuddenlydropohagainandbeyourownbabyoncemore，aotellmeastory.

“Wherehaveyoubeen，younaughtychild?”

“Iwon’ttellyou，mother.”

That’swhatyouandIwouldsaythen.

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