Inside me is a child who still stares in wonder at a moon rising full and orange-veiled out of the first sunset of autumn to crest above the treeline. Who runs to the window at the first flash of lightning and finds excitement in a shout of thunder that rattles the windows. Who hears music in nightsounds, from the falsetto chitter of treefrogs and crickets to the trumpet and tympani of the last train through town after midnight. Who waits for the rain when its smell is in the air, content to listen to it whisper against the grass when it comes. Who refuses to not be amazed every now and then at things that are, simply, very simple.
9-22-10
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