Beautiful Child

First breath pierces autumn chill,
hazel eyes greet my blue.
Strands of hair wound tight around fat fingers
my heart bleeds into yours.

Run! Run! Run!
scarlet leaves tumble as we dance,
gold sparks of memories
ignite our sleeping minds.

See the starry night swirl,
the fallen acorns scatter
and crunch beneath our feet.

Feel the edge of time
strip flesh from bone,
and offer us to the heavens above.

Giggle! Breathe!
the wide open sky
drips into our bursting lungs,
as we drown wrapped in silvery threads
laden with love’s pure promise.

I dream of rescue
but only as a brown speck
swirling in your soft mossy eyes
so I may see what I know to be

I am you and you are me.

A beautiful child.

_________________________________________________

This poem is about my son. From the time he could walk, he loved to be outside at all hours of the day and night. Many a day we’d explore and just run around experiencing everything around us. This poem is a distinct memory of playing with him when he was two years old in our backyard one fall evening. I had picked him up and we swung around in circles laughing, the fall leaves crunching all around.

There are a few moments in life that are separate from all others. A point in time when my higher self urgently whispers, “Look! Listen! Be!” A moment when I feel as if I’m floating above my body and I’m forced to realize how magical and precious this moment is and how it will never be again.

This week my son turns 18. He is the most loving and kind person I know on this planet. His daily bravery and compassion inspire me. Writing this poem makes me feel closer to him again as that two-year-old boy. This brings me a sense of bittersweet sadness but also of joy because I have the blessing of experiencing sacred moments like this with him on this earth.

Happy birthday, my son!

12 thoughts on “Beautiful Child

  1. Aw, Darla, this is so lovely. I have a similar memory of walking down a crunchy road clutching my four-year-old daughter’s small, sweaty hand, trying desperately to imprint every single sensory impression because I knew the memory was vitally important. What is it about fall that moves us so? Happy birthday to your beautiful child, and his beautiful mother!

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