-This poem reflects on a child moving through the spring yard with curiosity and joy, turning the ordinary world into a place of wonder and new possibility.
A small voice runs ahead of light,
out through the grass, across the day,
where puddles keep the sky in them,
and every path feels newly made.
The child bends down to look at stones,
at clover, mud, and moving ants,
then rises with both hands full of,
whatever wonder can be held.
A stick becomes a sword, a wand,
the fence a border, field, and gate,
the ordinary world breaks open,
under the force of bright belief.
And spring, in all its tender green,
seems most itself in this glad motion,
the laughter, the unguarded reach,
the life that does not ask permission.