I looked up from the stack,

written words bound in red, blue and black.

Moments captured and left on a page

stories of young and old, known with age.

There he was sitting quietly, up and out of the way,

for such a young one, not really much to say.

First thing that caught my eye were the braces attached to his shoes,

traveled to his knees, right below his denim blues.

A book lay in his lap, our eyes did meet,

as he watched me write on a small white sheet.

His feet didn’t touch the ground,

that chair a bit large for the young boy who sat without making a sound.

He took in all that was happening nearby

my mind and heart did employ with a quiet sigh.

 I wonder what he thought of those who walk unaided,

Is being “normal” overrated?

A gesture from someone who looked a lot like he

both feet on the ground, no longer, hands free.

I hadn’t noticed the rest of him there,

lying on the floor right beside that oversized chair.

His feet lightly stepped with the assistance of two more,

bringing a total of four feet on the floor.

He was across the room as quick as could be,

his voice chattered with anxiousness, something in the next room to see.

A sight of freedom as he entered through the big double doors 

a smile on his face, lifted him high up off the floor.

Birds that could talk and fly around,

making an unusually loud squawking sound.

Allowed to fly without any assistance,

Freedom came without resistance.

 

They..the boy and birds.. flew across the room as quick as could be

Feet off the ground, hands free.