The White Balloon

They sat quietly and stared out the window, showing the usual awe and astonishment which is common-part to the disposition of children. The youngest wore a small red coat that was too big for him; he was quiet and calm, much different then yesterday. That’s when I first saw them and wondered if they were homeless. They ate bread and large pieces of baked ham from clear plastic bags. Both boys were running about then, they were unstill, the oldest one in the blue coat taunted and picked at his younger brother who’s only concern then was to run around, unaware of his out of place behavior. This morning their stillness makes me wonder wheatear they are hungry or tired. Their mother was a contrast in the distance. She faced forward, preoccupied with the worrisome that all mothers preoccupy themselves with. She held by a shinny red ribbon the same white balloon she carefully guarded yesterday. Its color perhaps an indication of surrender to the hardships of life, it floated above her head like that of her hopes and prayers waiting for the moment that they would reach the heavens.