(This was written before sweet baby son turned two)

Little One: The Things They Say

Little One climbs high, climbs swift.

Stands strong on the arm of couch.

Looks out window.

Looks out over mountain.

I spy him… there…

with that sweet look of stillness and concentration

enfolding his entirety.

Little hand pressed gently against glass.

He looks.

He whispers,

“Purrty (ever so gentle with the “r” sound) fwowers”

(pretty flowers)

That same stillness that would catch him when

o so small beholding his reflection in the glass.

It holds him there, in wonder.