BLUEBERRY TEA by Elizabeth M., Amherst, NY The frail, thin woman walked slowly into the kitchen. The kettle whistled to a boil and she poured herself some tea. Slowly it warmed her and the fragrance brought the memory alive once again ...

Dusk was creeping in as Evan and Sarah walked back toward town. Evan kicked a stone down the side of the road. The work day was nearing its end and the people were starting home. The route that Sarah and Evan followed wound past the supply shop and the vacant lot. Ten blocks later, they saw him.

He was sitting at the far corner of the porch, almost hidden from view. He leaned against the pillar and watched them intently. Evan moved slowly so they wouldn't frighten him. The boy finally spoke in the smallest voice. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Are you tired? Are you cold? Would you like some tea?"

The next hour flew by. They shared and giggled as only children can in the time between day and night. They drank tea, nibbled cracker crumbs and found the secret life of checker squares on that fall day. The shine of their faces gave a hint of the magic feeling that passed between them. Too soon it was past dark and dinner was waiting. In those days, children didn't keep a meal waiting. They flew down the steps, calling good-bye and raced the last seven blocks home ...

Although 72 years have passed, the day was as clear as ever. Evan and I tried to return to that magic house and the little boy who had shared his tea with us. We took the same route home and walked past the same vacant lot. The house had never been there in the same way and the boy had never been anywhere again. He had a disease, you see. His body was twisted and fixed in a set position. Movement was impossible for him, but playing was not.

We never did find him again. For years we searched. The light of a gentle child's eyes in the afternoon sun stayed with us forever and the warm, inviting aroma of blueberry tea was the only tangible piece of an illusive memory.