Last night my daughter, two and a half years old, took my hand and told me she wanted to show me the moon.
She led me through our front door and into the yard, where I held her up so she could see the white sliver hanging just above the trees.
She didn’t want me to miss it. She doesn’t understand that I’ve lived for thousands of days, and seen the moon thousands of times. She wouldn’t comprehend that I barely notice it anymore.
For her the moon is a new thing, beautiful and mysterious.
So I let her, without questioning.
I let her take my hand, and lead me outside so she could show me the moon. She wanted to share it with me, and I didn’t want to miss that.
Someday she won’t even notice it, having seen it so many times.
But for now her mind is a new thing, beautiful and mysterious.