I sat in the bed of the truck with my son. His knees all dirty from playing hotwheels. He knows not of the world that awaits but he has his childhood to live thru first. His curiosity of the world around him pokes at my intelligence. "Mother, this stick right here is a bridge, and this rock is a mountain". My imagination has been at rest for sometime and his none sence make believeing clusters my rationality. "Mother, you can be the red car." And as I held that toy in my hand, Chrystina begged to get out and play.
My Inner Child
May 4, 2010