THE WOODS BELOW MY WINDOW

My life is instilled with moments of childlike wonder. 

Childlike wonder is the ability to be utterly lost in the patterns of a leaf, or to watch the flight of a bumblebee, wondering if it would be a bad idea to try and capture the fluffy creature, if only for a moment between the clasped palms of your hands.

Children can often see the world as if it is new, taking on the attitude of one who is still learning. 

Maybe children grow taller and not smaller because, at such a young age, they need to get up close and personal with the world in order to learn more about it. No bending down, or the like. 

Childlike wonder will lead you to suspect that fairies live in the woods behind your house, and it will take your feet tripping down to the stream to cast out small walnut boats with cargoes of flowers.

It will push you to climb on all that is climb-able, and some things that are not.

Tight-rope walking becomes fallen-log walking, and gutter-side walking. Shells are echoes of the oceans, dandelions are wishes, and clovers are luck.

It is the belief that maybe, if the wind is strong enough today, one may lean into it and still stand upright. 

It is also the thing that makes one try and stick their pudgy fingers into electric sockets, to see what will happen. But even Edison went through a process of trial and error.

Of course, we never stop learning about this wonderful world. All our lives we are learning, and so we can all possess this kind of childlike wonder.

These were the woods below the window of my apartment in France. Nearly every day, I would go out to wander among the ivy, looking for adventures. Although these woods were ringed by suburban developments and supermarkets, they still seemed so magical. A few steps in, and it was another world.