True Colours

I was colouring with my baby today and started to remember how I hated those safe little kids who would colour lightly...making it just so...making it perfect...I thought they were missing out on the magick of colouring. As Boston scribbled and squealed, I remembered how I would colour so boldly...deep, rich colours. I would press and push those crayons until they nearly broke. As I watched my boy draw whatever...scrawling lines and swirls...so pleased with his creations....screaming and shrieking how he did it...I remembered what passion feels like. The passion children feel when they express things that mean something special and magickal to them cannot be measured. I miss that passion...that zeal...that utter joy. As I watch my baby grow up, I am remembering who I was...who I AM. I like it...