Sibylle's homecoming

I stepped out the driver seat and contoured the trunk, and up the curb. on the sidewalk my hand
reached out opening the rear door. My body bends over, and wormed deep in compartment where I
began unbuckling my little girl. Moving in retrieve, I heaved her out the booster seat and wrangled
my body to stand upright by the Audi, the park across the avenue in view over the car rooftop. In a
flow of movements, I followed her rolling clockwise eyes. Surprised as she brushed shortsighted
her immediate air space. keeping short the distancing wide sweeping tarmac up the slope to break
through the flowing lawns. In her amnesic regard, I read her renascent mind and dissociated regard
of the far cycloramic park which hurt the curtain of townhouses coming down our side.
Sibylle turns short of assimilated the 1912 brick facade, which architecture impregnated the
newborn homecoming from maternity hospital a timely home design. Her eyesight inched each of
of the concrete slabs paving the slope down. Moving focus on the bluestone, a step up to the
threshold. approaching, she moved up the twin glazed oak doors, and as I squared up, she curiously
penetrated a rejuvenated double glazing. Attentive and mind splitting, absorbing the white marble
she sees, while hearing the unlatching door lock bolt. She didn't express, in the wake of the familiar
unsticking rubbery seal smack, and the bristly whispers of the hinging back weather bar.
Silent as Sibylle's mind, we entered a daylight stifling lobby the high and discreet suspended
chandelier of the artificial luster. Her eyes crawled up the airlock's half-dozen wide cascading white
marble treads. Hurting sight against a crystal crossed arms giant of a small diamond pane portal.
By the swing of the door, Martine short on my heels approach, we break through the reflective
quadrupled beveled edges mosaic. Carrying our daughter on my left arm in a changing perspective
along a matching marble landing extending into the depth. I turned away from a dormant rising run
of wooden stairs through a balustrade paired with a wainscot. Beneath which flight, around the

railing extending into the rear lies dark and hollow the stairwell to the cellar. Sibylle's eyesight at
the pace of my strides breaking through facing coffee stains sentinels, purple and evanescent
mirrored mine shafts miniaturizing into eternity. Alongside which facing home's entrance portal, I
read by coup d'oeil our little girl's expressive mind, questioning, What's the next surprise?
Sibylle seemed in a fixation trance on a wrapped up gift by sight seeking to grasp her intangible
return. Poised beneath a transom set of teasing spotlights, highlighting the lead glass fruit basket
from which spill tendrils bearing green vine leaves down either sidelights. I read the tale of her
spatial mind. her eyesight kept heading off, pacing ahead of my moves. from a stunning white light
skimming the doorway starry scintillation. ahead of my finger pinch pointing the master key at the
escutcheon plate bottom slot. She glued in space short of the evanescent matching brass Cupid and
let go by my hand grab and cranking. Her eyesight moved aside to the door and jamb rabbet, with a
prowling regard as the vertical slit opened, and clearing a welcoming back home interior, she dared
recollect her infancy nurtured milieu of a previous life.
Crossing the threshold to a homecoming few paces up the middle of th dressed table. A double
layered blue tablecloth, in contrast to the white decorative underlay draping the corner points low
down the legs to the floorboards. The ever so bothersome foot trap above the enormous knotted
cloth, which earlier before heading off, as I rose from the chair alongside the table head. By a swing
out my scissored leg caught my foot. There lights beaming across the dressed table, in numbers the
blind spotlights wall fixtures, tingled off the wine glasses and silver cutlery. I glimpsed as my little
girl, her eyesight clockwise air brushing short above the sculptured brown marble fireplace, moving
from the left graded down bookshelves, tall along the high ceiling chimney stack. On the right
keeping sight in retrieve from her mother's walls of size assorted books. In slow motion short of
tangible perspectives, to offside back step columns. Curved the plane of sight through the stacked
pocket book of spine titles meeting up the wooden ribs of the kitchen inter-leading portal glazing.
Timeless confined her circle to the aggressive artificial illuminated room. Keeping short of the
awakening glittery diamond mosaic, filtering a through-floor daylight in sham to a pelt lie on the
floorboards.
Martine in need to divulge her presence came around from the rear, and facing us, addressing her
daughter hands out, said, Come to me Loulou.
Martine's emotions stirred, and not so blind as it appears to her daughter hesitant to be taken from
her father during the exchange of hands, tame her innate bewilderment. On the sly moving off in a
twelve-year mindset, raises the stage curtain, moving with her daughter at arms through the folded
back inter-leading doors. Leaving aside two ghostly antiquity Begres watching in conversation
over the bare middle of the lounge. There, in the midst of a populated assortment of furniture,
reflect, Scarce on toys with a baby in the house? Martine in essence choreographs the moment, her
play interrupted by the sudden absence of her baby. Where Sibylle had evolved during the months
after birth, ready to elicit her next trick. She glanced up at the audience of her parents' gaze. On
hands and knees rocked back and forth, feeling out her little body gravity roll. Until, arouse by a
balanced confidence, her right hand raises an initiative to crawl. places her hand a pace forward.
There on the rug Martine sits down, watching her baby's quick hospital recovery, the force of
mischief escaping her to climb on three-seater cushions and up the backrest. Jephte's modern white
country couch pushed against the lateral wall, addressing across the room the tall chimney.
emanating ghostly a pace in front seize my existential giant arousal. Conjugating aside the dressed
white ornamental marble fireplace, niches the Napoleon bureau. a sister ghostly wisps seated on a
petite chair in front of a papyrus to a floating calligraphic plume dipping in an ink pot.
As Aphrodite's bust on a black pedestal charmed her morning silhouette patient and white behind
the imperial yellow padded three-seater sofa ghosting her court. Alongside niche in the corner the
imaginary wisps of facing figures bend over the scattered marble pawns of a single footed chess
table. Stage of our little girl's welcome home, tied-back bellowing wing draping curtains to a
French Doors glazing. Picturesque in the weather, the park dozed off a bright golden brushwood for
the night.

Bright and artificial, in a through-floor sense of secured luminosity, Martine through a liquid
beveled mosaic moves against an evasive dark, the night in retrieve against the far extreme rear
portal. She wrapped up in the kitchen preparation area, by a few ending movements the evening
meal.
I stepped up to the oak elbow height ornate and space intrusive counter. Prolonged the leg, and
coming around the end, lifted our little girl off the worktop. As I tracked back my steps, Sibylle's
eyes unrelenting attentive gaze on her mother's evanescent nimble fingers busy at every back and
forth swirling of her figure. Catching up unveiling the surprise of another function for a cooking
utensil.
Through the partial folded back inter-leading doors, Sibylle yields sight for the dressed head of the
table. Whereas selective, weighing a brick I imagined temporary for a growing baby, the annual
telephone directories distributed freely, that raised the seat by a pair of Yellow Pages of a chair
pushed in the dark corner.
Instead I seated her on my lap. Short behind us, her mother arrived dishing up. As I watched
feeding herself, raising eyes glimpsing across the stretched table. Facing the absence of a household
normal throng of visitors. Ghostly, a eight fold wispy panoply, changed through an accelerated
music chairs dynamic, cuts orchestrated from reigning walls.
Removing her bib, I said, Sunshine! Its time to go to bed voiced a fumbling thought, Do you
want to go and sleep? and sentient of the blunder, in an afterthought I laughed off, What a stupid
question to ask her?
her?
Yes, Sibylle nodded obedient to my surprise.
The scene arouse Martine, bouncy and impulsive asking, "Can I go and put her to bed?" jumping up
instantaneous standing by my side grabbing her little girl off my lap.
Silent, Sibylle shrugged her mother's hands off, laying her head down on my shoulder, so to say, I
want my daddy to put me to sleep!
Martine's eyes drooped, her innate Gemini in the wind, she turned her head away trailing a hurt tone
of voice, saying, My daughter doesn't love me. Instantaneous, Her Tiger grabs in, and bets against
her withdrawn stance watching from the corner of her eyes as I lifted our baby girl standing up. in a
swirl around my chair, Sibylle in a silent mischief headed off along the leading yellow pine
floorboards, and by the kitchen counter, toward the rear in a play of the study skylight alternated to
a fluorescent brightness.
In a filtering wispy aurora from the translucent leaded glass ceiling, Sibylle eyed past my spare
hand grip on the door lever, bound through the doorway for the glossy black granite slabs bleeding
through the night-hall.
Toe to heel, I pulled off one shoe after the other, and stepped through by a left series of slender
build-in-cupboard folding doors, mirroring our jagging figures. Coming to a poised sentinel of
facing doors, a dull twin insets of stained glass shaded by the overhead landing. Populating the
space, a dogleg aerial cuneal of treads, at the onset of the bright eyed translucent lead glass. I
swerved and pressed our way through. To the surprised of a little girl, in an elaborate reflection over
a resurgent ritual, played out in corner mirrors over the bathtub.
With a velvet floorboard comfort, I stepped the warm floor, toward a fine living style of motives in
twins lead-glass windows, heavenly and chilly in a white marble of walled ceramics. Where,
Martine had called me, the day she brought home her newborn daughter. Obstinate and frightened
held in a wide circular bathtub, she couldn't get a grips with the water. Which brought me to think at
resolving her drowning sensation. Stepping in the tub taking her with me. When seated, the little
creature floated on my supportive hands. She learned to swim while been washed, and Sibylle set
an ever lasting pace.

Across the way, squared up to the twin door duco white cabinet. Reflective, of an arm stretch and a
stride or two in line the breadth of the swung back bathroom door. At a mere two steps across the
night-hall and hinge back the bedroom door. Entering with the flick of a light switch, and swirling
left around the door stile to find door-less the build-in-cupboard exposed hanging clothes on
course fetching from the stacked shelves, time drag in retrieve.
staunch on a prior prepared of the chest top changer placed along the integrated white marble slab
wash-hand-basin. I wrapped Sibylle's little cheeks in a diaper. Spared a moment to slipped in my
proper clothes, dressing my little girl for bed. Lifting, her monkey arms and legs constricting my
torso, I carried her across the night-hall to the bedroom. Around the door, a tale from the flea
market. Bulky lugged out Martine's car and into mine. An eight thousand Belgian Francs trip for a
factory sand blasting. Brining home shining in a white enamel the vintage iron crib.
A suspended box mattress weighed a modern mid air touch through the hazy mail, 'The End' of a
tale by a black leather dressed couple. Like their basement condominium ongoing transaction,
Philipe and Zoe D'Horane in their field of business had the mattress tailor made. My little girl
showed her good will, as I heaved her over the high side guard mail. Releasing a boa arms around
my neck and her legs from my waist, slithering down from my torso to unroll on the bed sheet.
Her soft look fixing me, as her little head indents the Disney pillow case. I tucked her in, when at a
chosen moment raising my torso to leave, her hands snapped out. Sitting upright crossed legs, her
arms clammed around my neck. Objecting, I couldn't envy her for trying. Though, more determined
than granted her expression. My fingers went out wrestling with her interlocked convoluted hands.
Raising myself, suspended her figure. She grappled for additional body weight through her arms
pulling me down. In a stern voice I said, "Go to sleep Sunshine."
As I relaxed, she offered me an irresistible simper, and naughty smiling eyes, to read, Daddy! Yes, I
will try to sleep. At the slightest notion of slipping away, her arms clammed up. Failing to reason, I
conceded, lifting her over the mail guard and out. In my sweep of movements, I carried her across
to the baldachin bed. In the midst of flimsy tied back billowy veils, I sat on the side, and brought
her over and down on my lap. Pushing aside the cumbersome veil in motion to lie down, appears in
my line of sight Martine stepping up.
In martine' stride gazing at her daughter, she whisks her off my lap, and swirls away cradling and
mumbling a lullaby. Edging up and squaring her figure where wispy my earlier presence still
ghosts. The mail guard gauged too high, she returns her daughter. Continuing where I left off
earlier, sagging through my back, twisting and reclining, rolls my little girl over me. My spine
muscles melt in the appeasing cloudy mattress a relief from pain. Sibylle's little shoulder locked in a
secure lie in the crotch of my arm, I watched her contented little moon face sleepless passing time,
saying to mysef, She is given too little attention to her emotive return home. A while after Martine
had left us, I rose saying, "Sunshine! You're going to sleep now, in your bed.
Ok, I heard bubbling from mind, sibylle saying, If you which so!
Patient, repeating for the umpteenth time, "Heady down tapping the pillow case. Sibylle resorted
to lowering her head turning her cheek away. On knees, her little buttocks high in the air. I pulled
the eiderdown over. Straightening up in front of the crib, my hands reaching out for the overhead
goose-neck fixation, I wound up the dangling carousel. Starting the marrygoround zoo of plastic
animals, I stepped away and out the bedroom. Closing the door behind to a pleasant tinkling
metallic tune playing Twinkle, twinkle little stars ... twinkle all the way... my little girl set to doze
off from an evanescent hiccup and returned health in her short life. Stepping through the night-hall
each breath inhaling an oxygen spread of granite carbon leaded weighting my lungs. Spreading at
heart a growing forewarning anxiety of my baby's well-being. Tracking back my earlier steps, along
the floorboard meeting up with Martine in puff of smoke. Distracted, my heavy heart and lungs
dissipated into oblivion, as I sat by at the dining table. Watching, a cigarette red end consuming, and
the darker glazed Porto lined off the bottom, sharing a glass before heading off to bed.