Swatting

That boy keeps swatting the air with a twenty-four-inch long stick. He does that a lot. He paces on the tennis court in the middle of the day whipping the air, beating some meaning out of it. It's a hot July Sunday afternoon and he's out there at it again. He holds his steady gaze on the stick as it beats back and forth.

That stick is not a weapon in a battle. But the boy's pendulum-like stick ticking is too precise to be careless. Back and forth. Whip, whip, whip. He walks home slicing the air as if scything his way through the tall jungle grass to his fort.

What is he thinking?