The beads click and clatter, a soft wooden song,
Marking the space between my world and theirs.
This is not our everyday house—
It’s a place suspended in time, vacation.
Between the kitchen and the terrace, the beaded curtain hangs.
While I cook, I watch my grandchildren—
Their laughter, their play, their conversations-
A world apart but just within reach.
The beads clatter softly as they sway back and forth,
A wooden melody between my world and theirs.
Through this moving curtain, I catch glimpses
Of the imaginary world of childhood,
Bright and endless, promising and endearing.
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