When we open our eyes, at the end of our morning practices, we are welcomed by the sunrise. The mist in the air diffuses the golden light of the early sun over everything. A moist breeze brings the sound of young voices.
Two boys are playing on the river's bank. They are running and laughing. One of them holding the rope of a kite while the other looks up in awe.
But there is no kite. At least, not for our ordinary adult eyes.
Yet, looking at how they enjoy it, it must be there somewhere.
My mind goes to the lengthy family's trip of my childhood. Stuck in a car for hours, I had to find ways to fight boredom.
And then I saw it from my window; a young man following us, jumping from one tree to another, and then onto a light pole or an advertising sign. It was a mix of Tarzan in the jungle and modern parkour. I could spend hours admiring his stunts. And I couldn't understand how nobody else could see it.
There is magic in the eyes of children.
An extraordinary ability to make magic out of everything.
An ability I want to reclaim.