What goes through the mind of a toddler,
that little boy running across the yard on speedy
little legs, arms flapping to keep his balance,
his little round head abobbin’, eyes straight ahead,
staring out and around and seeing everything, alert
to each stick and stone and flower’s stubble?
What keeps him from falling over save my guiding
hands reaching out to him, needlessly really, him
coming up short to stoop and pick up a single dried leaf,
a flag held high in the breeze, or a standard to bear?
His race beginning again, a new direction, a new goal,
he totes a fistful of sticks to wave about and stones to toss
into the lake or just a puddle of water, his laughter light
at the ripples they make, or, sticks pounding on the grass,
he beats as on a drum, a rhythm only he can hear, only he
can feel, the drum beat of his own heart loud in his chest.
What goes on in the mind of a toddler? I’ve forgotten,
so long since it was me, running the fields of childhood,
the dry leaves of autumn crackling under my own feet
shuffling, leaves kicked up or tossed in the way of little boys
discovering who they are, curious creatures, discovering
themselves. And what can we learn by watching them grow?
Only, as they, who we have become and the life we shared.
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