His laughter is akin to a toppled over bottle of heavenly voices--streaming out and pouring down. It's an ointment when my heart is troubled.
He smells of dirt and sweat and drool--the fragrance pleases me. It means he's playing and crawling and touching and feeling. Moving and seeing.
His eyes are so blue & I know no one could capture the color on a canvas or in a crayon box. And I'm glad.
They're his blue to carry.