River

it’s morning, the furnace is on and he runs downstairs, later I will find an airplane book like a fallen leaf next to the beanbag chair next to the register, he likes the concord the ‘bestest of all’ because it is the ‘fastest ever’

he’s a master of disguise, one minute he’s thanking me for the trip we are planning to take, it bubbles up from him like lava from a volcano, the next he’s withholding an apology for hitting, saying I’m not going to

our sidewalk is one big canvass, he draws us all as heads with legs, I get curly lines for hair, the rest of you have sticks on your head reaching for the sky, and in between is the road he draws that is endless and we all must follow with our big toothy grins

it seems that learning is constant at this age, he adds and subtracts as a matter of fact, letters just flow out of his hand, surprising us both, and some small words he can read if the sunlight illuminates his memory for that moment

“hola” he says or wants to say if he remembers, yesterday he went to China, Russia and Brazil, where hopefully he learned the languages that intrigue his four year old mind, the world holds wonders for him and hopefully always will

River the one who flows through change and challenges with ease, obstacles only rocks to smooth as time passes

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