fiona heath

When my son was just beginning, we spent a lot of time on the couch in the living room, looking out the big window. We live on a fairly busy corner in a small city. Silas would lean against the back of the sofa, learning to stand; together we'd point out cars and pedestrians and the occasional cyclist. I'd point out the birds in the big spruce trees beside the driveway and the clouds lurking behind the trees in the school yard hill across the street. But it was always the cars that kept his eyes.

Now he sits on the back of the couch, feet planted firmly on the windowsill, hands pressed against the glass, yelling out the colors of the cars as they whiz by. At two, he is still fascinated by that which moves, and how can squirrels compete with mini-vans? I want more for my son than sidewalks and parking lots and shopping, but his guides are as ignorant as he is, and more homeless.