Interlude

 In the brief yet magical span between the dependency of being an infant and the independency inherent with adulthood there is the interlude of childhood.

 Such is the time where time has no meaning. Such is the place where place is a mere figment of imagination. In the blink of an eye we can be immobilized in awe. Fascination can keep us under it’s spell for hours.

 Life is lived. Curiosity is conscientiousness. The mystical is as common as breathing air. The unexpected is always thrilling. Everything is always unexpected. Nothing is seen as unreal since everything is real. Nothing is impossible when everything seems possible.

 And the sum total of life’s meaning, the intrinsic relevance of the depth and breadth of all knowledge, at the core of that which is profound, all is found within the answers to these simple questions:

                “What are those boys doing?”

                                  “Why are those girls looking at us?”