December 08

Manflight

My son, now grown,
testing the wind for flight.

Already he has reached my height
and will surpass it.

His feet still too big
to grow into.
His hands great feats of flesh
to mould and caress.

This boy, this child, this man;
I glimpse his soul through the puzzle
of teenage eyes, the half turn of his head
as his boyish grin breaks through.

Then he sets his sights on the future
and soon, too soon, will be gone.

“Beauty is my child’s face.”*

Is there a more perfect sight than the face of a beloved child? Is there a more perfect feeling than stroking the softness of their skin? Is there a more perfect smell than inhaling their sweet scent as you envelope them in a tight embrace? These are some of the intoxicating wonders of motherhood. How I love to dwell on my child’s exquisite features, but no matter how long or how intently I gaze, the image is always changing. It is the nature of childhood.

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