Watching him slowly move in the meadow, weaving his hands through the tall grass, he reminds me of a butterfly. I wonder what he's thinking. Or what he's feeling. Does he sense the beauty of the turning leaves around him?
Autistic, they say. Of my six grandchildren he seems the one who is first to show his excitement and affection. And yes, there is something in his far-off look that wants to speak to me. I'm just learning to listen and I like what he tells me.
his popsicle wrapper
swirling with the leaves
a young boy deep in his