Psychosis of the North

The sun rose as it had for billions of years previously. Yet on this particular dawn, one random beam kissed a water drop; the accumulation of night dew on a window face. The result was a dancing rainbow of colour splashed across the opposite wall of the child’s room.

What did not matter was whether this had occurred before or if such a scene would occur again. All that mattered was that the child noticed this show on that special morning. The child smiled.

So the child thought and climb out of its bed. A simple piece of standard A4 was on the child’s desk. This smiling child knew what to do.

A couple of folds here, one there, another here and then a complete fold there… Eventually it took meaningful form. Nothing special mind you, but meaningful there; in the room, under the dancing rainbow. The child went on to add more by taking out the pencil case and drawing the rainbow on the sail.

The paper sail boat was complete.

It was too early for Mum or Dad or the breakfast they would make. However the child slipped out through the back door. The child only thought of the creek by the back fence of the property.

Through the cool morning air, the child tip-toed over the dew blistered grass. Avoiding the hidden rocks, the child made it to the little creek. As cool as the dawn was, the creek water was closer to ice. Not that the child need know this. The touch of the water was not the goal of this early morning exercise.

The child bent down. The boat is in hand. The paper touched the cold water. The hand released the sail. A new, unchristened ship set sail!

The child giggled as the paper boat gripped the current and began its navigation of the pebble islands. Dancing through the shadow light show. Such a beautiful rainbow sail on a creek of crystal dreams…

“Breakfast!” cries mum up the hill.

Without a momentary thought, the child turned, run up to the farm house and forgot the morning rainbow. But the paper boat continued. It was caught by the icy current and slave to the movement.

One can’t help but wonder about the boat. Why does it now exist, now that it slowly dissolves on that icy creek? All the love in creation lost in the moment of being forgotten. All the purpose made meaningless in the death of the rainbow.

The sticks poke. The rocks bash. The icy current pulls. Nothing cares – not even for a second. The child has head off to be fed and to live its life, but now the boat exists and ages and fades and dissolves and all of this happens because it happens. There is no point, no reason, no goal; nothing. There is no point in being.