Dappled sunlight a soft path Fragments of light and shade played catch beneath the lively birch leaves.
A hush hung delicately in the air.
So many goodbyes. To fathers and sons left to fight To a country To one’s language.
For Alina, this was the toughest goodbye. Yet not so at all.
They didn’t understand.
She wasn’t being difficult, as her aunt claimed. She wasn’t a baby, as her sister teased her. She wasn’t like the rest of them.
Her Mama understood that.
These kept her safe. Three grasped tightly in each hand. Knuckles white at times.
She wasn’t a baby.
She knew she was five. A big girl.
But the pacifiers had been her rock. Soothed her as explosions shook their home protected her as Mama forced a way for them through the heaving stations.
These helped her sleep on the trains in the cars from strange beds under unfamiliar blankets.
To home. Her new home.
Alina ran ahead, flitting onto the beach jumped up on a rock arms akimbo feeling free.
Shells, of the sea variety, picked, pocketed Later painted.
Next a left, then a right. She’d arrived at the tree.
The whispers meandered up the path, weaving between the tree trunks carried by the warmest of breezes.
‘She’ll never dare … … it’s too much for her.’
But Alina realised at last. The pacifiers, these pieces of plastic, never were her rock.
Here was her world.
They were her everything. Mama, Sestra and Titka. Her family Her father - her Tato so far away.
Pinks, blues, yellows, reds Clusters of the rarest decorations hung on ribbons from the birch branches.
One lone pacifier waved hello Ten or more bunched up for safety.
Not a sound.
The air shifted next to Alina. One became four.
Stillness filled her being Sublime peace.
It was time.
‘Up there, please. Lift me up!’
Glancing up they saw it too the perfect branch the sunshine lighting it up.
On a yellow and blue ribbon dangled her six rocks her six pacifiers.
Let them fly here, highest of them all In this nook in this sanctuary.
Annika Perry 