The Ribbon Below Our Window
While waiting for a cousin to arrive, a child turns slow city traffic into a colorful ribbon in a drawing and discovers a more patient way to wait.
Play the quiz as a gameFrom Grandma's third-floor window, I watch the crowded avenue. Davi, my cousin, is coming to visit. His blue car is somewhere below, but the traffic light stays red. I press my nose against the cool glass.
The traffic is a crawling ribbon stretched between the rows of shops. Red, silver, blue, and green— its colors bunch together at the corner. No cloth lies across the road, just cars waiting, wheel to wheel.
A yellow bus is one long stitch sewn into the ribbon's middle. When the signal changes to green, the cars inch forward, moving such a little way that I can follow each turning wheel.
"Is he here yet?" I ask again. The minute hand has hardly moved. Grandma smiles. "Your clock is wearing heavy shoes." It feels that way, as if each minute drags its feet across our quiet room.
Grandma brings my drawing pad. "Try catching what you see," she says. I write the heading "Street Ribbon" across the top of a page. Then my pencil follows the road's curve past the fruit stand and the bank.
I sketch the bus, the crowded corner, and a blue car near the light. Beneath my picture, I add a caption: "Cars creep toward our block." My own shoulders loosen as I draw. I am learning to be patient, to wait without complaining.
Now the ribbon slips along. I stop asking about the time. A blue car turns into our driveway and parks beside the maple tree. Soon Davi taps upon our door, his backpack drooping from one shoulder.
"You waited a long time," he says. I turn my drawing pad around. "The cars were slow," I tell him, "but look what they gave me!" Together we lean over the page, tracing the crawling ribbon with our fingers.