Yesterday, as we colored chalk on the back sidewalk, the afternoon sun shifted. If we had been anywhere else we might not have noted the change; it was that subtle: the moment afternoon ended and evening began.
Jack noticed.
He told me, “The sun is settling down.”
Sunrise, sunset, settle down.
Language still swirls random orbits around his head. He chooses whatever word his brain happens to grab when he speaks, like a child’s blind hand digging in a toy box and pulling out a wonder. Vocabulary without precision.
I rarely correct him. Time will.
Until then, the poet I used to be marvels at how he redefines language by defining the world.
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