Wild One

Wild One

Even your eyes are wilder. Dark green at the edges, golden green near the inner core.

Yours are larger than your sister or brother’s blues. More excitable, more curious.

You and yours are more eager.

Your eyes don’t speak worry. All your eyes concern themselves with is finding the source to achieve your daily chocolate moustache.

When your eyes rest at night, you wake with the most magical rat’s nest of hair.

Your eyes are the ones kissing the top of your brother’s head, then they move immediately to the best perturbed eye rolls when you are asked to clean up the tornado you leave in your wake.

When you were born three years ago just down the hallway from where I write this, your eyes were the only ones born aware and awake, open to receiving the world around you, open to greeting mine.

All eyes tell a story, and yours belong to you alone. For three years you’ve been reminding me you belong to you.

Just this week your brother’s eyes started producing tears, and you remarked how much sadder it made him look when he cried. I agreed, but no eyes produce tears as large as yours. No child’s emotions could possibly be as big.

You are three, and I reflect upon this and you this week.

You’ve deepened the crease between my eyes, and greyed further the hair just north of my brows. As I watch you out the window you’re crying again, as you clumsily trip over your own two bare feet, carrying a clutch of eggs in your jacket pocket. I’m off again.

Happy third birthday to my long lashed, middle, green eyed child. May you continue to experience joy picking fluffies from between your toes, making dandelion bouquets, singing songs wherever you go, and wearing kitty cat shoes two sizes too large. Your hourly falls are a constant reminder we should be holding hands anyways, because three years have surely passed too quickly.

 

Top phhoto courtesy of Gillian Penkala, Tangled Tree Photography. You can find her work at https://www.tangledtreephotography.com/

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