Monday, February 18, 2008

When she runs.

I love to watch her run.

Arms flailing, legs pelting at double speed.
Hair flying.

No sense of rhythm or purpose.
Just the pure joy of legs that work and wide open spaces to use them in.

She already cares about her clothes.
She wants to be a princess.
She wants her toenails painted.
She's afraid of car accidents.
Of dogs.
Of loss.
She is a human being, with all the dreams and limitations that come as part of the package.

But when she runs, she transcends.


Phantom Scribbler said...


FYI: I sent an email to the account linked to this blog.

Bobita~ said...


THAT was magnificent.