She’s covered in Spanish moss.
So’s the carpet.
I move a couple chairs in front of the silk ficus and brush off and pick up what I can.
I direct her attention to the stacking rings.
I stack them. She dismantles them.
I stack again. She dismantles again.
The cat distracts her.
She squawks and grabs.
Tries to suck tail.
Cat scurries away, and she crawls after.
But the laundry basket snags her attention.
She pulls herself up on her knees and leans over the edge.
She flings a white washcloth and a lavender glove and a blue sock and her sister’s pink leggings and her own snowman jammies behind her.
Then drops to her knees and takes off again.
I struggle to keep up.
She stops to examine a piece of lint and the cats’ toy mouse and pulls herself to stand at a dining room chair.
I crawl faster to grab the chair before it falls over on her.
I stand, scoop her up in my arms and blow raspberries into neck crease.
She giggles and pulls my hair and squishes my lips between her fingernails.
I turn her back to my chest, grasp both her hands in my right, and go in search of clippers and file.
We end up in front of the living room window.
Watching the birds.
She slaps on the screen.
Some birds fly off.
Some are fearless.
A world full of wonders.
To see and to feel.
Things I miss.
Joy I lose.
Unless I’m on my knees.
To see Him in the simple wonders
With the eyes of a child.
People brought babies to Jesus, hoping he might touch them. When the disciples saw it, they shooed them off. Jesus called them back. “Let these children alone. Don’t get between them and me. These children are the kingdom’s pride and joy. Mark this: Unless you accept God’s kingdom in the simplicity of a child , you’ll never get in.” ~Luke 18:15 (Message)