Ode to Innocence

My weekend camping trip went very well. My shoulders and back are aching from the sunburns, and my arms and legs are itching from the numerous mosquito bites, but I had a great time. Nature seemed to have sprung alive overnight. It was on Thursday that I had started to notice the green leaves and buds on the tree outside my deck. By the time I came back from the camp, the tree was lush and vibrant.

There were three dogs in the tent with us, and the largest one kept wandering over to my side and slobbering on my sleeping bag. There was also a baby in our midst, and a five-year-old as well. The five-year-old had been largely silent in the year that I had known him, but he was chatty throughout the whole camping trip. He completely made my weekend. I found myself enjoying those little interactions with him ever so much more than those with other adults.

Rosy-cheeked and sleepy-eyed,
He slithers his hands along the skipping rope --
“It's a fire-hose!
It's an octopus!”
His giggles echo green and golden,
rustling in the wind,
up into the wispiness of the clouds.
“Did you know that
some people think that Jesus
is a girl?!”
Nonchalantly,
matter-of-factly,
he looks at me
and my soul reflects back
his innocence --
and in that brief moment,
I believe.

He laughs again,
at my seriousness perhaps,
and the miracles his voice holds
ripple through the still air.
I float up in the wings of his laugh,
look down at this small piece
of the wide wide world,
and know that all is fine and well.