He was a June baby but those first moments in the womb came some time in October.
And I think it fits him, with the look of sunshine but the temperament of your favorite fall sweater, the kind that cuddles soft against your skin and wraps you in a ready embrace.
He's always been my soft one, with quieter words and slower activity. He whispers to his play things and studies them with a gaze that looks lost but is really wandering. He climbs into my lap and would stay there indefinitely. He swirls my hair through his fingers, and whispers what he sees, what he thinks, the nonsense and growing intellect that belongs to a four year old.
He's a dream, and a dreamer.
He's a sight, full of visions.
I wonder at what the world holds for him.
Swirling sticks in the cool water of a tide pool,
dumping rocks to watch their liquid splash against the mirrored water,
sifting sand between through his fingers,
squishing weeds between his toes,
He beholds the earth so quietly and with playful wonder.
And I behold him, knowing too that he is Beheld.