Written Pyramids

A mother tries to shepherd her two children across the street. The girl moves slowly as she tries to pull the small braids into a single ponytail on the top of her head.

Her slightly younger brother hurries to the middle of the street, sticks out his palm to stop the absent traffic on the street that is only busy in the morning, and waves his sister across, barely avoiding touching her back as he urges her to keep walking. He drops his hands at his mother's second urging, and exclaims, "I've always wanted to be a crossing guard!"

Walking home, I am at first struck by the smallness of his dreams.

And then, for a moment, I imagine being that small. In elementary school, when all the cars are so much larger than you are and when you are told over and over again, being able to stop traffic, must seem like a super power. And, at his age, he probably still thinks the reflective vests are cool.

His dreams are--in many ways--as big as they come.