dust child

Smiles, joy in motion, on the faces of them, hopeful, sly, mesmerizingly beautiful. They crawl into your heart and burrow in, implanting themselves so you can never forget, never erase their beings, busy bustling through their short life spans.

Flashes of them, barefoot, dust swirling up around them like the dance of the Sea Monster, long buried beneath the sands of drought.

They are so light, effervescent and without the sagging weight of a rampant and indigestible bias, throwing them down like iron anchors tied humorously to wood-carved canoes.

Wings with no bodies to transport, see-through eyes with no concealment or pretense or fear.

They are sunflowers glowing in a garden of snails, giving us a way in, a way we long ago traded for complacency, choosing instead a place for our feet, steady, predictable and familiar.

They show us, remind us, how life is powerful by nothing more than just being.