Your first snow. You kept swinging your head back, looking up at the sky, flakes in your eyelashes.
You speak your language. With your eyes, with your hands, with the beginnings of your words. You mimic and gesture, you glare and nuzzle, you capture the moment in your hands with your touch.
You take a stand… against the walker, against the table, against the laundry, against your siblings.
You get involved. You’re here, you want a turn, you want recognition, you want to make the rules, you want to make the jokes, you want to run the show.