Under the maple tree, we sit together.
Me, thirty-five. Him, three days.
We are the same in this moment,
both eyes wide open at the new
beauty experienced in the shade.
From his tiny, dark eyes I see a reflection
of a leaf, uniquely sprouted from
a ragged tree.
A ragged tree still strong,
even with the loss of a few limbs
to weather and disease.
A ragged tree still bent on growth,
providing shade and shelter,
still giving life to the world.
If he looked into my eyes,
I hope he would see the same.