In the fresh, buttery light of morning, a door cracks open from a two-storied brick home. A small boy shuffles away from his cereal-eating and teeth-brushing to descend the steps of the front porch.
He waits for mom on the sidewalk. As the sparrows shoot from the shrubs, his head and body whirl around like R2D2 wearing an oversized backpack.
She walks behind him. After he crosses the first intersection, she stands resolutely and waits, tracking his joyful choreography across three more blocks. He sprints. He slows. He spins. And speaks to unseen superheroes.
And he frolics in my rearview mirror for miles, causing me to consider my steps as I motor toward my classroom.
Have I grown too comfortable from sitting upon a throne of shocks and struts, with a travel mug of hot coffee safely beside me?
Now I begin to wonder. Have passersby seen me leaping and speaking with an Unseen Superhero? Have they detected any wide-eyed gait of grace?
Or have I been standing still and only beeping?
May Your joyful force, Lord, be always with me.