My brother and I
did everything together.

I watch a tiny ladybug
cling to a leaning blade of grass
in the threatening spring breeze
and I ponder,
breathing deep,
what age it is that we stop observing life
through that magic lens of wonder.
When does clinging to the grass become a burden,
instead of a swaying adventure?
Dandelion transformation
There was a time
(before the dandelion fuzz)
when we would blow against the wind
with certainty - (and inflated cheeks)
that we had just altered the course of the clouds.

There was a time
when the tropical fish on our bathtub curtain
taught us to use our imagination gills,
so we wouldn't have to worry about breathing,
or treading the waters of our daydreams,
Do gills just close up like earring holes?

There was a time
when we ignored danger.
Our small rowboat was always more fun when rocked,
joyful when we stood,
euphoric when tipped over.

There was a time
when loud wasn't embarrassing.
We would stand in our little rowboat,
pound our chests like gorillas,
yell like Tarzan,
howl at the moon,
and inhale youth,
quite certain that we would go on living just like this,
forever.

There was a time
we'd race to the water hole,
race to be naked,
(before the dandelion fuzz)
race to jump in,
I'd tease you about the fish nibblin' on your worm!
You'd tease me about splashing like a girl.

I'm not sure how long the ladybug had been gone,
but I've made up my mind.
These rusty old gills have been on dry ground too long.
I race to the pond,
peel off my clothes in the threatening Spring breeze,
cannonball into the fountain of our youth,
and inhale life,
quite certain that I'll go on living,
just like this.

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