#5 Perspective

by Vickie Hartman DiSanto

To a toddler…
It stretches forever. It is slippery and hard, too far from wall to wall, let alone from one end to another.

To a small child…
It is a length of smooth floor across which she can run, ride a bike, slide, hop from one square to the next. It is an almost endless source of ideas, wide and tall and long and open for adventure.

To a teenager…
It is an area to pass through, a passageway from one place to another, from here to there, from the quiet of home to the more exciting wide world outside.

To a young housewife…
It is too much space to polish, but wipe up muddy footprints and wax to a high sheen she must. After all, this is the entryway, the first impression of any who visit, reflecting imperfections that reflect on her.

To a middle-aged man…
It is a place to pause, to collect himself as he returns from his job, to transition from the work-person to the home-person, to breathe for that quiet moment before facing his family.

To an elderly woman…
It stretches forever. It is far too long to walk, jarring arthritic knees.

2 comments:

Flutterby said...

Very interesting that the same thing can look so different to so many. I would have like to see these perspectives tied together a little, woven into each other tighter.

Jonathan Riley said...

The transformation of perspective through time is shown nicely here. For me this piece reads a lot like a prose poem. Very introspective and style oriented. Either way, Nice work.