The Boy and the Azure Sky

The boy’s orange shorts stand out against the azure sky
He has one foot on his skateboard
as it balances on the lip of the bowl
I crouch down low to film his first drop-in on my phone.
Beyond the grey cement, I’m distracted by the immense vastness of everything above us
A few clouds like cotton wool hang suspended in the blue.
Simpsons’ clouds we call them,
But mostly it’s just sky, so much sky.

The boy is still looking down into the bowl
It’s the tiniest drop I’ve ever seen
Couldn’t be any more than fifty centimetres from top to bottom
with a gentle curve, to help the junior skater get on their way.
He angles the board down,
lets it go,
watches it roll to the bottom.
Looks back at me
“You can do it!” I say.
“You do it then,“ he challenges.
“No. I don’t have the right shoes on.”

I look up through the camera on my phone to the sky
Take a few photos of different shades of blue.
It’s that strong winter blue you get when there’s no summer haze to soften it.
The boy sets up and looks down again.
Go on…

This child used to have no fear.
Would climb on roofs, up trees, jump off high ledges.
I don’t know whether to be pleased with the change to his risk taking
or sad that the spark has somehow been extinguished.
Either through failure, judgement or well-meaning adults saying
Be Careful!
Don’t do that!
You’ll
hurt
yourself.

We try it different ways.
Under the azure sky,
he looks down to the grey cement hole.
“What if you skate around a bit and then just drop-in, on the move?”
I shrug
He gives it a go
but baulks again
It won’t be today

His gut has already decided that.
No amount of standing at the brink, looking down
will end with success today.
But one day.
One day he’ll look up
His desire
will override the fear
the body will follow
Then the sky
is the limit.