Fall

The ducks are flying low, black vees swooping between the trees. “Ga ga,” Ezra calls as they pass. He’s toddling along beside me. He weaves into a neighbor’s yard, and I reach for his hand to veer him back onto the sidewalk

Ezra took his first solo steps this week at seventeen months old. Most babies hit this milestone, oh, about a half-year before Ezra.

He took his time, but he’s hitting it in style. Within a day, he’s toddling everywhere – down the hall, across the park, and up and down the block. And he couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

“Hi, hi, hi,” he calls to a neighbor’s cat. He crouches and picks up a leaf, then stops to examine a lavender plant, refusing to budge for several minutes. “Vroom, vroom,” he says, watching someone ride by on a bicycle.

“Where’s the ball?” He points at a pumpkin on a doorstep.

I tend to walk fast. On walks, my husband is always tugging on my arm. “Slow down. I’m back here.” And my parents call my walks sprints. I just love that feeling of striding – legs pumping, arms gliding.

But I’m appreciating Ezra’s pace right now. My favorite season is almost over. The last yellow leaves are clinging to barren branches, and they shine like pendants in the afternoon sun. The sun, itself, won’t be with us for much longer. It usually goes into hiding until about mid-February. So Ezra and I are making the most of it, ambling around the neighborhood every chance we get.

Watching Ezra delight in his first walks makes me think of my four-year-old nephew. He just got his first pair of glasses. His grandmother says he stands at the window and gazes out, remarking on blades of grass, twigs, the grain of wood.

Imagine seeing all of it for the first time.

This post is for Steady Mom’s 30 Minute Blog Challenge.