I happily slow down and follow his lead along the curb of the path. I join his seeing, peering down and examining the ground. He pushes dry leaves ahead; occasionally he lifts one to show me, adding a sound. I nod, repeat, and may add a word. He attends to shapes, curled or straight, to weight, to colours and their shades in the light, he tests textures, hard, soft … a stone, a twig, a feather, an empty snail shell, an acorn.
I witness and share the adventure.
He has learned to resist putting objects in his mouth. Yogurt tastes better. It’s now all about touching with fingertips, sensing, and smelling, moving things, sounding, sorting, weighing, comparing new impression with recent ones, rearranging his comprehension, moment by moment, of how things are connected. His imagination soars. I observe his world expanding.
These discoveries will resurface in picture books, turn into stories and create stories.
He aims ahead, crawling towards the red playground-gate with parallel bars. Arrived, he shakes the bars for a good rattle. Having recently achieved walking, gates will soon cease to be obstacles. And he’ll look less down and increasingly more up.
Dear heart, I enjoy the wisdom-gathering fun to be present at your early treasure hunts.
Course of Mirrors 