Climbing and other busy things

She pushes yellow plastic chairs around, and climbs them to reach the surface of the blanket box, falls off clutching the mosaic’ed paper dinosaur.  Half way up the stairs before you know it, she stands waiting to hold your hand while she half walks half flies down.  If the coffee table is in her path she won’t go around it like a normal human being, over or under if she wants something in particular, using all her skill not to bump her oversized head.  In Granny’s house and visits to our friends, she almost makes it to the windowsill, she craves the outdoors.   Shouts at the back door of the doctors office, looking to make her escape, out where the wheelie bins stand and summer leafed trees beckon from a distance.  She joins her brother jumping on the bed, bouncing herself kneeling up and shouting.  She is busy – with boxes, or anything that’ll hold anything else, she walks around looking important with it, focussed on her task and proud of her achievement.  She tries to fit into any box or container like a cat.  I hope the joy she daily finds in ordinary things sticks to her like honey, their sweetness always finding purchase in her heart.