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There's a cobweb in the garden—the spider behind the intricate lacework scurries away to a bush warbler's perch as the winds pick up the delicate web's windward half and clumsily drops it in the grasps of the white lilac-like wildflowers that face the earth, hesitatingly ready to become one with the soil where they came from.
Behind them are two souls, a woman, a little over middle-age with a soothing charm, and a boy, a little over the age of the youngest kindergartners with bubbling curiosity, both with hair a mix of ebony and silver. Woodpeckers play hide-and-seek under the rich green canopies of the maple trees, secrets hidden in each inch of bark and hollow, every leaf looking in every direction.
She wrings the cloth, and the water that tumbles into the pail makes the suds scatter like frogs in turbulent water. The little boy sitting on the floor watches with keen interest as every stain of mud moves away with every swipe. He smiles like the drifting bubbles that glow under the gentle gaze of sunlight, one of them making its way towards his tiny nose. The bubble hovers above him for a second before bursting, sending the littlest of rain showers on his face. He giggles, his laughter as light as snowflakes and as pure as dew drops on a young peace lily, another new finding that the air carries to be heard by the forests and fields and every shy squirrel that will listen.
The lady gets up and gracefully makes her way into the cypress house, pausing by the door for a few seconds to look back and smile a smile reminiscent of a lake that glimmers under the morning sun; peaceful, experienced, and complete. The spider reaches a branch that oversees all that happens in the house, gently swaying with the wind, quickly scurrying to a young leaf to build a new work of fine laced art.
The leaf falls, the spider quickly hanging on to a string of silk, as it watches the wind playfully carry the leaf a foot away from the porch on which little Shinsuke sits. The trees watch as another story little unfolds in front of the minivet's eyes as the child stands up and hops towards the leaf, his little baby blue shoes now muddy. He bends down to pick up the green leaf, his little loose hat falling to the freshly watered ground as it rolls towards a puddle.
The little boy drops the leaf and tries to hurry to catch the hat, his left shoe coming off because of the sticky mud. The hat comes to a stop next to the puddle where a frog lays. As Shinsuke reaches out to pick up the hat, he startles the frog awake. It lets out a shocked croak, and as the strongest of sunflowers laugh, he quickly retreats his hand with the hat, the soil slightly staining his baby blue top.
He potters back to the leaf, hurriedly putting his shoe on to get away from the frog. He trudges to the stairs, dropping his hat on the porch and goes back to the leaf again, this time carefully keeping it safe in his baby blue pocket, fastening it with a big pale yellow button. Little Shinsuke climbs to the porch again, and walks a good 8 steps before he realizes that he has forgotten to take off his shoes, the cypress floor now soiled too. His displeasure shows in the way a little pout shows up on his face, his eyebrows scrunched up, troubled that the floor isn't clean anymore.
His feet pitter-patter on the floor as he travels back to take his shoes off and the bee-lines to the pail, grasping the rug with little hands, a sunny sparkle of determination in his eyes. A cabbage butterfly slowly comes to rest on his hat, moving it's wings like paper windmills in spring, the sun above smiling fondly at every movement.
The little boy starts to wipe the floor from one end to another, both hands on the rag, little kicks to the floor propelling himself forwards. The woodpeckers carve another story into the barks, every seed listening to the bedtime story as they fall into deep slumber under the earth, not knowing that they'll sleep a seed and wake up a sapling. Little Shinsuke keeps on wiping the floor, oblivious to the trail of soil his muddy sock leaves behind him.
To one end, back again. He stops, standing up to look at his progress. He wipes his moist forehead, where a streak of soil draws itself with every gesture of his small fingers. The floor around him is half spotless, quarter modest and quarter muddy. Little Shinsuke is frustrated, his forehead warm with anger, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He sniffs.
The skies above chuckle adoringly at the little boy, the wind rushing to dry the puddles of water around him. His grandmother comes out the cypress doorway, but Shinsuke doesn't need to explain anything. She chuckles, her sound like a warm spring breeze, and picks up the little boy into her arms.
"Someone is aaalways watching, Shin," she says, her voice as warm as sunrays, "but let's get you clean first, and then let's get back to cleaning the floor."