Kissing mimosas

There is nothing more liberating than when you’re led into the inner world of a child. Or rather, when you allow yourself to be led into that world. When we choose to do so, we realize we can leave our well-worn, tired suits of adulthood on the dusty park bench and enter into childlike introspection and wonder-filled abandonment on the very grass patch that our feet stand.

As she twirled her little finger around mine and I desperately gripped on, it dawned on me how in little spurts it must have grown and that I hadn’t really noticed. Immediately, I observed how her crouched frame had lankily elongated, her voice sharpened and developed a cheery lilt just because she was excited that I was holding her hand. I was her perfect accomplice to take with her; her shield and guardian of the universe, as she drew me into her little fairy world on the grass.

Today we learnt to kiss mimosas. Giggles, tickles, pokes in watching them curl and fold in, lush squeals of delight as we imagined them waving goodbye and mesmerized, purely happy and contented with the simple joys that we didn’t have to look far to find. We went on to hunt for another patch, another and another and quickly experienced life as a playful hunt marked by fearlessness and unexpected rewards at each turn.

To all battle-worn parents, it may be a jungle out there. But all we really need to know lie in the eyes of our children…when we really have the courage to look deep into them. We can then find our footing again, about what life is about, our misplaced priorities reordered at the feet of mimosas.