You have to love the reasoning of a child.

You have to stand in awe…

You have to love it

Oftentimes I think that, as adults…

we could use a little more of it…


Their son saw magic everywhere

In ever cranny 

and every nook

When they asked how he sees so much magic

He smiled…


because I know where to look.

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When he looked up at the sky, 

and saw the clouds 

he grinned….

then he climbed up to the top of his tree


and waited for the wind

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She knew her daughter’s heart was pure 

and that compassion she’d never lack

when the leaves began falling from the trees 


and she tried to put them back.

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We watched our granddaughter play volleyball…”There she is!” we both exclaimed

when she stepped onto the court…when she got into the game.


She only played a short time…didn’t even have time to mess her hair

The ball never came her way, but that didn’t matter…we didn’t care.


Her team won the game!…and though it was sad to watch the other team lose

We were happy!

What a beautiful day!

Then we went home and watched the news….


A child wearing a home-made gas mask in Syria…

her father’s face so worn and drawn.

They were pulling bodies out of the rubble…

after 7 years their war goes on….


7 years of war…cities destroyed by hatred…fighting and bombs

children who may be lost forever from their dads, their homes, their moms….


And we thought how lucky it is for our granddaughter…

playing volleyball so innocent and free

while halfway across the world there are children not as fortunate as she.


Who are running for their lives…while around them building fall

Who I imagine would give anything…to be playing volleyball.


And we’ll be happy watching her next game…

happy to be there win or lose…

Forgetting for a moment the rest of the world…


until we go home and watch the news.

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When I gaze up towards the heavens…when I pay attention to the sky

I’m glad I’m not a meteorologist…and here’s the reason why:


On our walk this morning we were treated to this wonderful surprise

as the infant rays of the morning sun…created streaks across the sky…


There was the slightest arching in these streaks…and not to simplify

but dappled with a hint of color they looked like rainbows in the sky. 


And I thought what a beautiful sight for anyone up early 

and lucky enough to see…

but if I were a meteorologist…

I might view it differently.


For I would know this time of day is aptly called twilight

(when the dawn acquires the morning from ebbing of the night)


And I would know the way her light scatters…is the scientific reason why

even though the sun is still set…I can see her rays across the sky.


And I would know as I see these rays adding hints of color to a canvas painted blue

it is diffusion of the light that gives them their pinkish hue…


But…since I am not a meteorologist…

since I don’t have a meteorologist’s eye…

I am perfectly happy seeing morning rainbows 

stretching across the sky.



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Yesterday when the old man looked out his window pane 

he saw children playing in the rain


running through the puddles in the street 

with no umbrellas…in their bare feet


and he harkened back to a time with pride 

when he was a child playing outside


a time he wished he could repeat.  

when imagination inspired his feet.


when he played and climbed and recited rhymes…

back when he had the indulgence of time.


as more drops fell upon his window pane 

he wondered, when was the last time he played in the rain?


watching the children as they crissed and crossed 

he wondered…at what point was his innocence lost?


then his inner voice said, “It isn’t gone.  

it’s there in the rain…out on the lawn.”


so he left the safety of his window pane, 

took off his shoes…and ran out in the rain.


and barefoot out there in the pouring rain 

he was reunited once again


with an innocence…he thought was lost…

as on the lawn he crissed and crossed…


as he ran through the puddles out in the street 


with no umbrella…in his bare feet.

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He asked his young son what he does in the garden…

how can he play out there for hours…

His son smiled and said, “it’s simple, Dad. 

I have questions for the flowers.


“I ask them where their colors come from, 

sometimes I get down on my knees

and I whisper into their petals…

do you dream about the bees.”


“I ask them how they breathe, 

and if they ever have the chance

to laugh or play with one another…

and if they sing…or dance.”


“I ask them if they have a heart,

if they have a soul…a brain.

I ask them which one they like more

the sunshine or the rain.”


“I ask them how they know to bloom in Springtime

and I ask them where they go

where do they vacation 

in the Winter cold and snow?” 


“That’s why I spend so much time with them…

why I can play out there for hours…

because there always seem to be more questions

I want to ask the flowers.


“And do the flowers answer?” Dad asked

“Do they talk back to you?”

The little boy’s eyes widened…then he smiled…

“Oh Dad…of course they do.”


And many times after they talked that day

the little boy didn’t go to the garden alone….

He walked hand in hand with his father…


who had some questions of his own.

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He went to the mountaintop looking for answers

He had never been there before.

He went to the mountaintop looking for answers

for wisdom…for knowledge…for lore.


When he reached the top he sought out the wise one…

“What can you tell me?” he said to her with a bow.

“If you please… I am looking for answers,

about the best way to live…and how.”


“With kindness and compassion is the best way to live.”

As she said this the wise one came closer and smiled…

“And the best way to discover the wisdom you seek

is to look through the eyes of a child.”


“But I no longer have the eyes of a child.” He said.

I’d like to go back…but I don’t think I can…

I have grown up…I am older…I’ve matured..

My eyes are the eyes of a man…”


“It’s true you are grown now.” the wise one said,

“You can’t go back to who you used to be

but the eyes of your child are still in there


every now and then…step aside…let them see.”

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The music began to play and as the dancers began to stir

the eyes of the the crowd settled on the them…

but I was watching her.


She had been playing with her stuffed unicorn…which she dropped…to my surprise

when she saw the young ones dancing…and then she stood there…mesmerized.


She slowly toddled up to them…and I watched as the seeds of dance were sown.

Proving, once again, dance and the music that inspires it has a language all it’s own.


Then slowly, ever so slowly, she began swaying to the beat

Perhaps in that one moment…she was dreaming with her feet.


Perhaps she did more than wonder as she watched the dancers spin and reach their hands up to the sky…

Perhaps in that moment she understood…

she didn’t need wings to fly.


Then she danced the way we all should dance…

with no inhibitions…just having fun

And I thought, if there is a shortcut to happiness…

dancing must be one.


I watched her smile as she danced and spun…

with no more thoughts of unicorn…

And I felt blessed to be there to witness…

A tiny dancer being born.