Sunday afternoon at a playground is a wonderous event.

Theia climbs to the top of the space ship vehicle which, when spun, can travel into the imagination and land wherever we decide to land.

“Mia, come look at the view!” Theia calls.

I climb up to the top, my legs just a bit trembly when I turn out and face the expanse of the sky, the tall trees, the view.

“Hold on.” I caution Theia.

“You don’t understand, Mia,” she says, “The climber is holding me. Look!”

She’s settled her bum on a horizontal rope, fit her body in between the vertical ropes. She is, as she says, held.

“Yes, it appears you’re safe.” I smile.

I think about her awareness of her body in space and in time. I think about my own awareness, growing steadier and steadier. The more I am with the physical experience of being alive, the likelier I am aware, like Theia, of being held.

Our space ship lands in a wonder land where Mias push girls on swings until they are all swung out, where girls sing songs while they swing, where the sun shines the whole time we remain at the playground.

Sunday at the playground. A great view. Big hearts.