Noah sits in a wheelchair on the verandah of his home in the hills most days.
He’s about eight and lights up a smile every time he sees you looking at him. Then he gets goofy because both his front teeth are gone and he looks away ..
.. back to the trees.
Trees that are as the oceans’ swells. As distant, as silent.
Noah was born with a neurological condition that has blessed him with total body numbness. He has walked on broken glass and tracked smears of blood through the house. But now he has learned to sit and watch the trees bend this way and that under the strength of the summer north-easterlies.
He often waves back.
Noah is profoundly deaf.
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I am being encouraged to write children’s books on the basis I can talk about children for about four minutes. Their imagination knows no bounds, I think I remember that.