Exploration

I watched my one-year-old toddle onto the playground. Her chubby little feet trip over themselves in their urgent desire discover her environment. Her baby blues are dilated at their widest, trying to take in the scenery of twisted pipes and metals, all so brightly colored and tightly screwed into one another. Other children scream and giggle and her curly head twists straining to see despite her shortness. To much to see all at once. She circles aimless in excitement, switching her direction every 30 secs, exhilarated at the thrill. Her emotions and excitement are overcoming every part of her 30 lb. little being. How much could she possibly absorb in each glance, through each intake of shaky, excited breath.

The yellow, faded slide holds too much joy as she sits at the top. She holds on to the sides, releasing squeals of both agitation and expectation. The bottom seems so far away yet she knows the thrill of falling. When she clumsily lets go and slides to the bottom, her snaggle-tooth grin is obnoxiously confident.

The swing flops as she tries to crawl out of its confines, it is so much more fun to watch the other children swing. If she could stand right under their dangerous toes she would be content to laugh and squeal, unaware of how she would tumble. The glory of living oozes from her rosy little lips and dancing round eyes.

She toddles across the grassy field, zigzagging, not even looking for me over her dimpled shoulder. Intent on some lofty and far goal, of which she does not know. There is only the the sky blue, the crunchy browning autumn grass and her own imagination. Her arms pump back and forth as she hurries. How far would she walk if I let her go with no redirection?