Gentle

The kid that I nanny loves being outside. Mostly, he loves the plants. Trees, bushes, grass, flowers, anything I let him get his hands close enough to touch or grab. It was always a beautiful moment when he was smaller to see him reach out and pat a tree leaf or wave his hands through the needles on the pine tree because he was just so fascinated by it. Everything was new and he would spend long minutes just feeling things. It brought out this deep joyful nostalgia in my spirit, watching him experience the world around him. Now, though, he's a little older and a pro at picking up Cheerios and other foods, so taking him outside to experience the world also means making sure he doesn't experience the world by putting it in his mouth.

As soon as he could grab, though, he would reach for leaves and pull them from the trees. Part of it is wanting to hold things and part of it is exulting in his newfound skills, but part of it is that he loves watching leaves fall. His parents will gather leaves and throw them up in the air for him. I've never seen a baby laugh so hard. He wants to do what he sees us do and so he reaches for the leaves, pulling any green thing in reach to himself. Now that the year has marched on, when the wind blows in this first fall for him, I'll take him to the window so that he can watch the leaves tumble from the branches. He stares and smiles.

I know he won't remember me, but I want to teach him kindness anyway. When we're outside and he's reaching for the nearest flower, I let him reach, but when his fist closes tight, I wriggle my fingers into his and open it back up, saying, "Gentle, gentle." I show him how to touch the pedals with his fingers and leave the bloom still living and attached to the stem. We practice. "You have to be gentle with growing things," I say to him.

We have to be gentle with growing things. They are tender and vibrant but they are not always protected or safe. The sun shines and the rain falls and the wind blows and we cannot help those things, but we can, for our part, be gentle. We can touch. We can hold. We can be. But we should not tear. We should not crush. And when the wind and the rain batters and the sun scorches, we can help. No. Not can. As we're able, we must. 

And I have to remember that I am also a growing thing. I must also be gentle. I want to teach myself kindness too. Brush up against the petals of my heart and allow them to breathe.