Two years tall,
and already
he runs like the wind remembers him.

Laughter spills from him-
wild,
unfiltered,
the kind that shakes dust from tired hearts.

He doesn't walk,
he charges into the world
like it's a game
meant just for him.

Small hands,
big wonder.
Every leaf,a treasure.
Every puddle,an invitation.

He is the storm and the sun,
the question and the answer.
Alive in a way
most forget how to be.