Twelve years ago, a month after she learned to walk, she waddled her way down the aisle draped in ivory with a petal filled basket and a crown of flowers atop her soft baby hair. Igniting smiles from all she passed as her dad cajoled her down from the front steps of the dim church. I stood, giggling in my gown, looking down adoringly at my sweet wobbly niece. Asia Zoe.
Although at times still undeniably wobbly, she’s got a pretty solid step about her these days. Wide-eyed and curious, with a blazon disregard and disinterest for all things dainty, she’d prefer to draw a classy stache above her lips than to paint them pink. She’d rather cannon ball boom into the pool and swim like a fish, than wade in the waves or lay in the shelter of the shade.
She’s a tree climber. A bare foot pioneer. A scraped knee sprinter. Long and lean with a head full of golden curls and a nose dotted with freckles, she is my Peter Pan. Where her adventurous frame can’t take her, her imaginative spirit takes the helm.
Through the roof, this one, past the second star to the right and straight on to Neverland. Her creativity is a rocket that fires like a million glittering stars exploding into the sleekness of the night, illuminating the ordinary with spirited glow wherever she goes.
Her smile is contagious. Her heart is pure gold.
She is presently in Budapest, visiting family, but she is on my mind.
And if you can’t teach me to fly, lil Pan, then I will write about you, and sing you a song from a thousand miles across the sea.
With love, jitterbug,