She cleared the park. This little girl, with a purplish-pink kerchief-babushka, completely rid the park of pigeons, and then she built a fire.
Benjamin and I were sitting on a park bench in Kampa, a city island in the Vltava River of Prague. The morning was perfect. It was sunny, bright blue skies, a cool breeze. Behind us, the boats passed by slowly, and the water gently splashed at the banks. La, la, la…
Then, all of the sudden, from the North, came this fierce little girl! She was running full speed, with her hands up like claws, and she was growling deeply, like some sort of warrior. Her enemies were the pigeons. Not a single one was safe. She ran directly at them, and she ran them out, one by one, sending them flapping and squawking into the air and over the river. When she scared the last two up and over our heads, she smiled at us. I swear I wanted her to take a bow and say, “You’re welcome.”
Once the park was free of the pesky birds, she and her father gathered sticks. She arranged them carefully into a pile, bigger sticks on top, and smaller ones as kindling. She even knew to get some dry leaves for extra spark. When she tried to put a leaf in her mouth for a little taste, her father stopped her, and she giggled.
Before visiting this magic park, and seeing this pigeon fighter, I had just finished a draft of a children’s book with a little girl as the super heroine. I am also writing a poem about (among other things) a time when as a little girl, I tried to taste hickory bark, because it looked like a fun texture to put in my mouth.
I love it when poetry comes to life like this!
