A small child lets out a not so small whine. It’s not the first time or the last. But it stops me and I look at the dirty hands and mouth, evidence of the wild still alive in what will one day be a civilized man. Reformed of adventure, he will no longer roam with inhibition. 

I lift the compact form and rest him in my arms, where he still fits best. I leave all my learned lessons and take on the eyes of the untamed. We roam, he and I.  Wild and calm. Finding that some adventures are quiet, best had in the arms of love.