polished dreams

He became a kindergartner half a year ago, entering new phases of reading and writing, autonomy and friendship.

He is like a tiny mollusk, but instead of straining calcium from the water he spins the things he learns at school into polished dreams upon his back.

At bedtime now he holds the book and I close my eyes in order to give myself over completely to the pleasure of listening.

He stumbles on a word and I, miraculously, manage to stay quiet for a dozen heartbeats.  When he stops to think his attention floats up, as though he is scanning the sky for something.  Soon his words come again, like music they sink and rise and settle back to earth.

I listen, and feel as if my love for him could outstrip the limits of my body, as if I were merely a not-so-narrow conduit for another, greater thing.
And then my attention floats up too, giving wings to words like thanks.


Diana said...

It's time for me to tell you true: I am absolutely addicted to your words. I look each day, and sometimes more than once a day...in hopeful anticipation that there will be new words for me to drink.

Andy and Jenni said...

D, my attention has been floating up for you, too.
All the loving feels right back atcha.