The green wellies of my great-nephew.
Yesterday, on the very first birthday of my sweet great-niece in Beirut, I spent in the company of my sweet great-nephew in Bristol. He captured my heart with his little hand and serious eye, his lighting- up smile and that wonderful laugh that he uncorks - showering you in spontaneous infectious joy....
He ate spoonfuls of my spicy coconut soup from his mother's plate and said,
Who made that?
He pulled on his green wellies with some help, and splashed in the stream in the woods, threw stones in the water and fell asleep in the pushchair while his grandma and I sat in unseasonal warm sunshine in the garden.
He kicked a squashy football between us and waved his arms in the air every time he hit the wall or the apple tree and scored his goal.
He buried three yellow plastic ducks in the sandpit and dug them up again and again, brushing the damp sand from his fingers in swift delicate strokes.
He bashed the rainbow coloured metal keys of his xylophone with a smooth wooden stick, then threaded it through the elastic loops of two baby brass symbols and advised me that the loops were meant to go on my fingers.
He pulled the squidgey white eyes off a green rubber, wriggly worm with tentacles the texture of fluffy omlette and announcing they were like bubbles.
He lay down low on the wet grass to examine the real worm casts in front of his nose and chucked his chuckle when he squished them with his palm.
And all the while I felt the happiness in him - recognised his undiluted trust in the love that enfolds him, certain as the rising moon.
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