Birdwatching (Again, Sort Of)
On possibilities.
My son notices things now. It’s one of my favorite things, seeing what captures his attention. He’s becoming a little person in the world, learning what it has to offer.
The other night, before he went to bed, we sat outside in the yard for a bit. I held him on my lap, and we watched the birds fly back and forth from the neighbor’s tree. He followed them across the sky, turned his head to see where they were going.
Every so often, a plane passed overhead. I’d point to it—he looks toward where you point now, too—See it go!
It’s like a bird, I said, but it’s really, really big. He watches my face when I talk to him. Sometimes he puts his fingers over my mouth and furrows his little brow.
He’s figuring something out, I think, but I don’t know what. Should we see where it’s going? I asked him, every question open-ended.
I told him what it’s like to fly—just like the birdies. The plane, I said, was on its way to Rome, and I told him all about the birds there, too.
Previously, in Birdwatching.