Remembering an Easter Monday

Blonde hair and blue eyes. A pudgy little arm suddenly hugged my right leg. The other hand placed on a rusty chain, dividing the landing-stage into two. The creaking metal is supposed to prevent tourists from falling in.
I was looking across the lake to watch the boat approaching when I felt the hug, followed by a little head leaning against my thigh. Eyes equally in awe and fear looking across the water. The little boy, leaning against me, is completely oblivious that the leg doesn’t belong to any of the accompanying adults. He just puts his whole trust, and all of his trust, in the leg holding him, being save, not falling into the water. I ruffle the blonde tuft, the hug gets tighter.
Giggles and apologies are offered in French, when I turn around grinning.
Meanwhile, we still have a 75 cm long, tiny moment of perfect trust.

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