I told you to put on your shoes.
You sat down at the doorway, overlooking the big yard.
The sunshine came in through the weeping willow and made little spots on the ground right before you.
You looked at them. They changed. Why did they change? The wind moved the branches.
The wind was soft, though. It tickled your skin. It smelled like wet grass. It just had rained an hour ago. But there was also a smell of earth. And raspberries.
The wind made funny noises with the leaves on the tree. You hummed along, looking at the leaves getting moved by the wind, floating, dancing on those long delicate branches.
A bumblebee buzzed by. You knew it, it has its nest in the wall of our barn. You followed it with your eyes. On the roof of the barn two little birds were sitting. They talked to each other. More birds talked back. The two little birds took off and flew over the roof to meet their friends in the garden.
The lush brown color of the barn against the blue sky. White clouds. Black and red bricks. Green trees.
Your soccer ball. The swing moving in the wind.
A little spider tried to crawl under the doormat. You followed it with your finger. You softly blew at it. It stopped moving. Then it continued its travel. You blew again, it stopped again. You smiled. You moved a little over to let it walk past your feet.
Then you looked up again, held your nose in the breeze, blinked against the sunshine.
Your shoes were standing next to you.
I had told you to put on your shoes.
I had done that many times before, then I’d walked away, only to come back 5 minutes later and see you sitting there, with your shoes still next to you, and getting mad at you for not doing what I told you to.
This time I saw what you saw. I smelled what you smelled, I realized what you realized.
The world is one amazing place for our eyes and skins and ears and noses. Our hearts. Our souls.
YOU are the one with the perfect focus.
Keep teaching me, son, please, and don’t ever give up on me and my grown up ways.
I am still learning.