As I walked back form a shopping excursion at the market yesterday, I came upon a school for some of the young kids of Grecia. Surrounded by bright green concrete walls and gates of iron, I first heard the squeals and laughing, the noise of outside play time. Behind the bars, a courtyard - a mix of grass and concrete, without an elaborate play structure. The teachers watching, painted with smiles as the children mill around. Boys and girls of mainly preschool age - say 3-6 years - all dressed the same. The boys with crisp white shirts, the girls with the same, collared and crested. Boys with blue shorts, girls with blue skirts, both with white socks and black shoes - a regulation outfit of conformity. Yet their personalities showed. The girl with the mop of curls, mouth open, screaming with amusement, pirouetting around. The four little ones, watching the road, giggling loudly as I smile. The boy, away from the others, looking down intently at the ground, contemplating life or just looking at a bug. The rest, about 40, executing a symphony of movement to their own internal aria, Prancing, hopping, majestic gesticulations, tiny whirling dervishes of humanity. Playing with no aim or reason, Experiencing the pure joy of being. It was but a moment, but it resonated and stayed with me. I perhaps shared in their time of being free, and rediscovered the child in me, yearning to come out and play.
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