I can remember being little and exploring the woods behind our house. My senses were always heightened and it felt like anything was possible. The space around me felt enormous and there was so much unknown in such a familiar place. As I've grown I've lost a bit of that wonder. That hopeful and consuming notion that whatever I dream can become real even if only for a moment. Dreams became simpler, which as an adult seem more attainable. Reason out weighed whimsy. Responsibility outweighs play and the fleeting moments of my own childhood quickly become memories.
Then I became a mother.
Children have this amazing sense of adventure. A puddle becomes a river and a hill becomes a mountain. Watching discovery through the eyes of a child has brought back some of that lost whimsy into my every day. With big eyes they look at me begging me to be a magical witch who conquers the evil wizard. And just like that I transform. Without thought or fear. It's extraordinary. I've again learned to dance like no ones watching, I've rediscovered the magic of bubbles and the excitement of a thunderstorm. Forts create another universe and there are one millions uses for rocks. I am reliving childhood as an adult. Running like mad towards nothing. Exploring their abyss with nothing but deep laughter and dirty knees.
I admire children. Deeply. Especially my little ones.
To mud pies, soaring through the sky on a swing, dancing, believing the wind can take you anywhere, discovery, adventure and endless wonder. I tip my hat. Always.
good old fashioned mud pie making (and of course the clean up, which as always, should be just as fun) I should have taken a photo of how beautiful my hands and clothes were too