We enter the courtyard of the school before the bell. There are people, small nursery and almost as big as me. My son is leading the way, I'm near my daughter who disappears behind a little. Here it is in its waxed, I want the door but she does not see me. I see his face, the task of toothpaste at the corner of the mouth, I see his hands clasped in front of it pushes it into a hasty breaststroke for splitting the forest of arms, legs, bags. I see her anxiously, his eyes searching for us. I am here, above, above.
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