Young creature, 
You are liminal, nomadic, 
arching across the cold sky 
like Orion disappearing into Spring. 

You are anadromadous, 
venturing into wide rivers 
and returning to the waters of home. 

Your conciousness is in full force. 
It bloomed overnight and I didn’t even know. Those fast neurons shooting forth 
like thousands of yellow crocuses pushing up through winter's earth 
and filling the dark heavens. 

You told me some secrets.

Small seven year old atheist, 
finding new realities
shifting among them 
questioning the one we share. 

I didn’t know you could do that, White Fox.

How could I not have noticed that your mind had awakened behind that toothless smile?