They sit at the kitchen table

a little puffed from their brisk walk

munching biscuits, sipping drinks

the dog already snoozing on her pillow

Mummy in the lounge with her feet up.

Nobody talking.

 

Two sisters and their young brother -

a twelve-year-old who 'knows everything', unasked;

a nine-year-old who contradicts this presumption every time;

and the boy, six, somehow surviving two bossy older sisters.

A volatile mix hard to harness

but not without interesting factors.

 

The oldest says suddenly – out of nowhere!

'God is so great, we must look like ants to Him.'

'Well, I don't think ---' interjects her sister at once.

'Oh, never mind! You're probably right!' - ungraciously

not having ready a put-down so unexpectedly.

She snaps another biscuit and chews noisily.

I admire her restraint.

 

I wonder where this comment has come from.

God is a pretty big subject

and she's obviously been thinking – a lot.

Sipping my coffee at the counter, I don't say a word.

It's not my conversation.

But I'm really keen to hear what might come next.

The lad finishes his biscuit, takes a long swig of drink.

He neatly wipes his mouth on his sleeve

and says clearly,  'Well, then, we must look like God to ants.'

 

The girls just stare.

'An excellent deduction, young man,' I speak quietly. 'Well done.'

His sisters are still recovering.

Then the eldest pushes back her chair and announces crisply,

'Time to make Mummy more tea.'

And the conversation is closed.

 

 

 

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas, July, 2017