What a wonder it is, to see the starfire reflected in child eyes. To see that ancient argent light mirrored in the blue depths of their innocence; to know that it’s one universe staring down another.
They are an unending source of inspiration to me. So perceptive, and – as I was at their age – old before their time. They are different in personality, night to day, summer sun chasing the winter moon around the sky. I could watch them forever, as they watched the night spin past their window. We spoke of life and galaxies, of shapes to be found if you look hard enough – patterns, well met in the eye of one who wants to believe.
I know that feeling well. I know it every damn day; every waking moment, every restless breathspace, outside of sleep.
They are beloved to me. I feel a kinship for children who ask, who look beyond what is set out before them – who dash through leaves, as charmed by the mulch beneath as the golden colour above. They love to walk in the rain.
The little girl, upon seeing the Big Dipper for the first time, turned an enthralled face to me.
“It’s like a whole new life. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”
I pity the world that awaits these two. They will conquer it, in their own unique ways.
They’re a light in my darkness, even as their own shadowy lives take form. They remind me of who I once was. If I may be so bold as to presume, they are the sort of children I might have had. As it is, I am Confidante and Big Sister, upstairs in her eyrie heart. Watching the sky, seeing the world with them, is to see everything anew. It’s as she said.
It’s a new life
A fresh bubble to chase
To pop with a sound like tapped china
And lucid, to live in slippery dreams
Of colours, of other worlds
Fallen as the stars.
They are my Mercy Street.