The wonderful thing about children is that they are yet to know how wonderful they are and will become, that they still have no clue how much wonderful is in this world. To them, there is so much that is dormant, quietly waiting to be woken, shaken, made alive. To children, the world is endless wonder. They question and chase, wide eyes filled with a skin of hunger adults have long ago shed. There is not an instant they are not learning and eager for such learning; repetition has not yet clung to them like the words in my sentences do. They carry hands with muscles readied for captures and never passive palms. Their miniature minds and bodies form new memory production lines, experience everything without a history that burdens. Instead it is new and vividly fresh, like waking to the smell of good baking permeated into your pillow. The worlds of children are made of possibility never permanency. To me, there is nothing more exciting than being a helping hand in their discovery, as they grow and grow and grow to become another near impossible coincidence of wonderful.
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