22 22 Iencountered Molly in the Infant classroom. She was a serious-faced girl with more paint on herself than on the large piece of paper in front of her. She had drawn what I thought was a snake: a long, multi-coloured creature that curled and twisted across the page like a writhing serpent from a fairy story. It was a small masterpiece with intricate patterning and delightful detail.
‘That’s a very colourful snake,’ I commented.
‘It’s not a snake,’ the child told me, putting down her brush and folding her little arms across her chest. ‘It’s a road.’
‘It looks like a snake to me.’
‘Well, it’s not. It’s a road. I know cos I painted it.’
‘Ah, yes, I can see now,’ I said tactfully. ‘Is it a magic road?’
‘No.’
‘It looks like a magic road to me.’
‘Well, it isn’t,’ said the child. She placed her small hands on her hips. ‘It’s an ordinary road.’
‘But it’s full of greens and reds and blues. It looks like a magic road. Perhaps it leads beyond the ragged clouds to where the Snow Queen lives in her great white palace.’
The child observed me for a moment. ‘It’s an ordinary road and doesn’t lead to any white palace.’
‘Why all the colours?’ I asked, intrigued.
Her finger traced the curve of the road. ‘Those are the diamonds and those are the emeralds and those are the rubies,’ she explained.
‘It is a magic road!’ I teased.
‘No, it’s not,’ the child replied, ‘it’s a “jewel” carriageway.’