He steps on the uneven ground as if it was made for him, of him, an extension of his own body, instructing, without thought, his feet to fall onto the softest patches. And so, where other children were hardened by callous, he needed not have that protection. A dandelion snapped from its stem as it slipped between his toes, joining him for the rest of his journey toward the stream. It looked like sun and his skin, chilled from the spring grass, welcomed its sentient warmth. If you were watching you might say he stumbled. If you were listening you might think that he fell but God knows the boy leapt from the polished river stones into that water like he was born there. Imbued with a sense of safety that no one could remove from him – in fact, we spent the while searching for its origin. What a way to be in this world. Secure. The boy was free.