By Leah Siviski
Allium. Narcissus. Daisy. Dandelion. Peony. Poppy. My son names flowers, Ls like Ys, syllables added and mis-emphasized. On the summer terrace packed bright with blossom, he toddles in circles, desperate to see and smell every flower.
“Whoa! Big! Pritty! Smells good!”
Please let him run through the world like this, Queen Anne’s lace in one hand, Forget-Me-Nots in the other, dizzying himself with a kaleidoscope of colors, sunlight glowing on his cheeks, face in rapture as it takes in the world.
“I write to make sense of the world.” – the writer