until you know

Until you know, understanding is as inconsequential, and far less frequented upon, as a two dollar bill. Simon had a ball that bounced well, multiplying the force which he induced. It was a solid ball, but not so hard that it hurt if he pelted you with it, as he enjoyed doing on occassion- not because he was mean, but, as he put it, he "liked to keep you on your toes." Neither the ground, nor the sky, could grasp that shaded sphere the way he did, nor did they enjoy its beautiful sophistication and grandeur the way he did, however, they were capable of giving it demensions his hands could not, and this is why I say he bounced it on its way. Giving it every chance to see the ground, the grass, the sky, the tree, the sun, the rain, and a passerby's temporary pain. That ball caught glances, and peers, frowns, and tears once when he had to take it back from a small child. Until you know, understanding is a left handed turn into a brick wall that doesn't move or acknowledge your existence. Simon also had a bucket he tended to leave at home, in a dark corner of his closet behind a bag and next to some shoes he had outgrown. He kept it empty always, thus not having to debate the merits of it being half full or half empty. When he brought it out he would hold it for a moment, staring into its slightly narowing space and into the bottom. It had finality and he seemed to take comfort in that notion, and in filling it up with water from the tap so that he could dump it back out again and place it in the same spot behind the bag and next to the shoes. until you know, understanding is an effort in futility. Simon, had a ball and a bucket, they were his two favorite things.