Amazing gifts from my child. So much that I don't grasp, which only becomes clear before my son's eyes. Amazment with a butterfly or spider's web, or anguish from a block's inability to defy gravity. All speak to things buried deep within, lost to sunlight, yet still real, deeply real. Perhaps I can rebirth that, bring it forth into the daylight. Try and see the world simply, in all it's joy and pain. Perhaps what children offer most to the world is not their abilty to experience unbridaled joy, but their grasp of pain. This pain felt so deeply, unhidden by convention or stigma, at things WE can't allow tears for, though we still long to spill forth sobs. Perhaps it is this, and our ability to allow that grief which is the greatest gift.