Little pink fists clutched tight around the stems, your wrinkled brow the picture of concentration, I wonder:
What do you wish for?
I told you, of course, of the wishes to be made on the dandelion heads — the ones like fluffy white clouds that fly away on the breeze. Your gasp of awe and giggles of delight are my own secret wishes come true, but again I wonder, what of yours?
Do you wish for that magenta bike we saw? That one you fell in love with immediately; that one that’s far too big for your little legs, but you insist you could ride with more assertiveness than people twice your size and more. I think I’ll wish for you to keep that determination, to help you through life’s tribulations.
Maybe you wish for another koala, though your collection is a little out of hand. Small ones, big ones. Soft ones, hard ones. You do treasure and care for them, however, and it makes my heart swell with pride. I wish that you’ll keep this sweetness, and never let it go. Hold on to your affections, your attentive, tender feelings, your kind-hearted soul.
I watch you purse your lips, close your eyes, and I wonder which wish you’ll make.
You’ll probably wish for a really big cake, or chocolates and sweets aplenty. Not that you need them, you’re spirited enough without! It’s tiring — and terrifying — but I wouldn’t change you for all the world. I might even wish for that, that boundless, unstoppable energy, that spark of pure life. I wish for that, for you, forever. The unadulterated joy in just being, that brazen thrill for life.
Your eyes spring open, and your lips puff out, your breath sending your wish to soar with the seeds.
I realise then, as you turn your beautiful blue eyes and summer bright smile on me, that my wishes are all for you. I rather think, when I see the love in your face, your little arms open as wide as they can go, that maybe your wishes are simply for me, too.