Tag Archives: child
They move in a pack, chasing after a girl who rides a pink scooter. She wears a green onesie, a belt round her middle. One child looks at me warily, then runs off to join the others on the playground. … Continue reading
She starts it behind her head, then expertly flicks it round to the front and ties the end off with a hairband. She is so young yet growing fast, as the deftness of her plaiting shows.
A blond child runs along the cobbled street. A black cape with gold braiding flies behind him as he goes. I may see a boy, but he sees a superhero.
Abandoned on a wall, it looks forlorn without its pair. Dropped unnoticed from a pram or pushchair, some kind stranger has placed it there. Will its owner ever return to claim it?
Long, black and shining, they bounce up and down on her back as she jumps. A child’s excitement reflected in the shape and movement of her hair.
A blonde-haired child wearing a red T-shirt inserts himself between two of the musicians. He blows his new, quacking whistle with pride, keeping in time with the music effortlessly.
He rips the paper bag open and makes a five-year-old’s exclamation of delight. He holds it up to his ear. “Can you hear the sea?” I ask. “I can hear the sea and I can hear me in there!” he … Continue reading
Her face lights up as I bring out her cards and presents. A child excited by the pure joy of unwrapping and revealing. Sixty-odd years young.
The woman carries a bright red plastic sledge, the ridges on its base white with snow. From behind her skips a little girl, dressed head to toe in pink. She stops dead and turns towards her mother, then falls straight … Continue reading