The old lady walking uneven, slow, her shawl draped close is chased by children picking up the cherries he drops behind. They laugh at her and spit the pits on her skirt. Each seed forms a glyph of the child.
The children dance and wave their arms and eat every cherry that falls. One by one each see their friends disappear quietly into the old lady’s skirt. Silent like a ghost image they vanish into the cloth.