Dreams

This is what a child not yet four dreams of. Miracles of pleasure. This boy, wearing rain gear that looks like a yellow hazmat suit. Wearing hockey pants and helmet, a pair of astronaut gloves.

He is still magic. He can do anything, everything before him still unbroken and emerging. The world and all beyond it, a field of potential just waiting to be ignited. It’s as if his vitality commands it, as if life must bend toward him.

A skunk emerges from some shrubbery, it’s long claws exploring something on a patch of green.

Jones is fascinated by this creature. He kneels down, gets smaller, tries to become the animal.

I tell Jones of the skunk’s superpower.

Tell him that every living thing has a superpower. But Jones was born with this knowledge. He wants to know other things.

Daddy, what happens to orange pop when it grows up?
I don’t know, what do you think?
I think it lives in the sky and becomes the sun all around.

In this world, everything always turning into light.