whimsy & wonder.

I went for a walk with my younger self today.

She didn’t bring her phone or have somewhere to be

at the end of the hour.

She didn’t have me penciled into her Google Calendar,

or have to make plans weeks in advance.

She didn’t ask what we were doing after we graduate,

or when we had last spoken to our brother.

Instead, she stood at my side without outward curiosity.

She stopped to point out the caterpillar crossing

the road at a pace that pained me, fascinated

by its little movements.

She asked if we could go down and perch by

the stream, to imagine we were elsewhere.

She laughed so loud I could hear it echo

in the chill of the winter air,

warming my heart in its old familiarity.

She didn’t worry about our grades or the

job search that feels all-consuming.

She didn’t intermittently ask how much longer to go

or where we were headed.

She didn’t notice that the look on my face was

filled with sadness for a version that felt faint.

Instead, she told stories that made me feel alive.

She rambled about teaching brother to take his

first steps, a moment I had forgotten.

She whimsically told me the very storyline her

Barbies were to live out that night,

for the 100th time.

She fixated on animal tracks we passed,

carefully picturing the creature that might have

preceded us that day, crafting his life story.

I went for a walk with my younger self today,

and she brought out a version of me

I wanted to stay.

She reminded me that whimsy and wonder

used to be innate, rather than something

I had to find—

and that it’s far more important

to be humble and kind.

I went for a walk with my younger self today,

and she reminded me that we were going

to be just fine.

So now I notice the bugs, and the breeze,

and the trees,

and rekindle that laughter

that is deep down in me.

When we went to part at the end of our path,

she squeezed me tight—

that little girl, my sweet empath.