My New Glasses

It is Wednesday, three o'clock in the afternoon. Gael is seven, and he has new glasses. Last week, his teacher sent a note home: "Gael can't see the board." The glasses are blue and round, and they feel strange on his nose. At the door of the glasses shop, he wants to take them off. "Keep them on, please," says Mom. "Just for the walk home."

Outside, the street looks different. There are small letters on the signs. There is a cat on a roof, and Gael can see its white whiskers. "Mom, do cats always have whiskers?" he asks. Mom smiles. "Yes, always."

They walk into the park. There are three big trees near the fountain. For Gael, trees are tall brown sticks with soft green clouds on top. He doesn't know any other way.

But today he stops under the first tree and looks up. The green cloud is not a cloud. There are hundreds of leaves, small and separate, and every leaf moves in the wind. Between them, there are little pieces of blue sky.

Gael doesn't want to take off his glasses now. He holds them on his nose with both hands. Then he runs to the second tree, and to the third. "Mom!" he shouts. "Mom, trees have leaves!"