My letters

Childhood is ... childhood.

Each of us was once a little girl or little boy. And maybe one of the readers of this short story is that kid now.

And already reads independently. Maybe even to someone: for example, a sister or brother, other children, mom or dad. Or maybe just listens to them, comfortably sitting on some couch.

Maybe this boy or girl goes to kindergarten or school. Or, perhaps, has already grown completely. Whoever it is, childhood always lives and glimmers inside.

And this story is one of those.

***

On the most ordinary day of early December, the first month of winter, when good snow had already fallen, one girl of five years old, her name is Maya, played in the morning with her dolls.

Each of them, of course, had own name. She dressed them in different clothes, wrapped up, squeezed and rocked. Pasted them small, the same as herself, colored peas. These were like tiny pimples and Little Doctor was treating his wards. Then, she fed them and put to bed. And after she woke them up and something started again.

So, in that day something else was waiting for her. The Book.

Here is, lies on the far table by the window. But Maya doesn't know yet about.

The smell of porridge came from the kitchen and soon mother's soft voice was heard: 'Maya, get up off the floor, let's go eat.'

Her mom, unknown how, knows that her daughter was sitting right on the floor. She stood at the cookstove and was already laying out breakfast on plates. Soon dad came up. And now, the three of them are play a good knife and fork - eat vigorously, with appetite.

After breakfast, when parents had already gone to their affairs, Maya returned to the room, under the white light from the window, taking the dolls with her, sat cozy in an armchair and took a book from the table. She is never seen it before. Mom and dad have read different stories to her for a long time and in this year, she read on her own for the first time.

And she loved reading! The book opened up a new world, it smelled so delicious, and the pages could be rustled with listening their sound.

And now - new cover. Untitled. All inside. It was a small book. Just right to take it with small handles and open.

Maya looked to the window. The sun was shining around the corner, snow was falling smoothly and three red birds were sitting on a nearby tree. It was bullfinches. They ruffled up under the light frost.

Maya put on her feet warm socks that knitted by her mother, for greater warmth, and climbed even deeper into the armchair. She felt so warm!

She took the book and began to read. The story inside was small, exciting, interesting and Maya read it slowly, listening to her very quiet voice, uttering the words. And so, when the book was completely closed, Maya looked to the window again.

The sun was higher, the snow was falling smoothly and beautifully, and there were already seven bullfinches. Maya pulled her hand with a closed book back to the table and then ... something began pour out of it ... It was...Letters!

They poured straight down - on the table, on the floor, on the chair! And when the book lay on the table, it all stopped.

Maya was mesmerized. She wanted, for some reason, to take the book again. And, as soon as she took it, Letters poured down anew. The book returned to its place and everything stopped again.

Maya began to study what had fallen out of the book. She saw familiar corners, folds, shapes. Letters lay quietly and some kind of warmth was inexplicably emanated from them. Jumping out of armchair, she rushed into another room:

'Mom, mom, look what happened here!'

Mom at that moment was putting things in order:

'Maya, what's up?'

'Mom, there ... Letters was fell out of the book!'

Mom was so passionate about her cleanup and did not immediately understand what her daughter talking about.

'Well, what is it, my sweet?'

Maya went to her mother and pulled on her dress:

'Mom, let's go!'

'Okay, okay, let's go'

They went to Maya's room.

It was clean, tidy and dolls were sitting in armchair. Perhaps only chair was unusually moved away from the table. And so, everything was neat. There were no Letters and book was on the table, in the same place.

Maya took and opened it. Nothing unusual. Here are: words, letters, lines and pages.

'Well Mayunya, what have you got there? What's missing'

Maya looked quietly at mom and said just as quietly:

'I don't know mommy. It's okay.'

Mom hugged her daughter and went back to clean up.

And Maya looked at her dolls, they seemed to her like winking or something, and reopened the book. Nothing like that strange.

But when Maya looked closely and read first few words, she suddenly realized that... it was another story! Another!!!

She sat down in a chair again and began to read. The story was very interesting, and Maya did not even see how the sun behind the window hid behind a cloud.

And so, when book ended and was closed ... Letters fell out of it again, even jumped out. They seemed to Maya so good, so gentle, just like snow, and she jumped to the floor and began to take them with her soft little hands, saying exactly as to her dolls:

'What are you, my dears? What happened?'

She took each Letter and stroked it on all sides. And, as it seemed, Letter was smiling at her. Some of them was so powerful, collected, and others – like thin, delicate. Like as if they would take and break now. She didn't want run to Mom and talk about it again.

What if they disappear once more!?

They were so nice!

The sun came out and its light walked into the room again. Maya saw that the Letters moved slightly, from side to side, as if they were celebrating something. And they didn't return to the book.

Maya went quietly to the door. She wanted to call her mother again, without leaving a room. And, as soon as she opened the door, all the letters rushed back quietly likewise and climbed back into the book.

Maya saw this, didn't say anything. And there was so much of the most tender, rapturous in this silence, that she didn't want to tell anything to anyone.

The day went well and evening is come. Mom with Maya went to visited her friend and her one-year-old son. There were delicious pies, warm tea and jam. Then they played different games, fiddled with indoor flowers, just chatted, joked well and sat down to tea again.

At about eight, Maya and her mother back home. Dad had also already returned and was waiting for them at the kitchen table. They hugged, talked about this and that, and then went to the room, in which, if not lighting the lamps, the bright moonlight was already falling.

Maya was silent and waited with awe. The same book lay on the table. There weren't Letters around. But near to her... out of those same colored tiny peas... were laid out a Heart and the words "We Love You".

Dad smiled slyly, mom hugged her daughter and Maya felt very good, very, very warm.

When everyone was already going to sleep and Maya was in her bed, she opened this book again and read the title on its first page: "We are always with you. We are here."

And below, from the Letters was laid out the same Heart, as on the table. And then a new good story began.