Breakfast

It is 7:30 am. There is music playing in the living room. Isis and I are sitting at the kitchen table. I have my Cheerios and coffee. She has her Cheerios, milk on the side.

She takes a handful of cereal, shoves it into her mouth, climbs down from the table and gallops into the living room. A few seconds later she reappears. She sits down at the table again. She grabs another handful, squishes it into her mouth, clambers back down, and gallops back into the living room, disappearing into the sound of the music. She quickly gallops back to the table. Back up. More Cheerios. Back down. Gallop again. Gone for seconds. Back for more. Over and over and over. She smiles the entire time.

I watch in silence. I continue eating my cereal but I'm quickly becoming less hungry. I swig some coffee and watch her. I fight tears. I usually do with her. Some people might think I'm borderline depressed these days, but they are wrong. She gets me like no one else. These are happy tears.

Why am I crying? Because she wants to gallop. That is all. End of her story. She is not worried about a single thing. She is galloping to the music. She has no thought of work, or chores, or money, or friends, or food. Her thoughts revolve around now and all that matters is moving through the house with the taste of Cheerios on her tongue. I am crying because I am envious of her. I have been an adult for quite some time. I've had plenty of opportunities to practice things like love, patience, forgiveness, thoughtfulness, loss, grace, and strength. And these are all good lessons. But I am watching innocence at it's finest. And it makes me wish that all I wanted to do was gallop too.