He stands pressed against the window,
naked except for a pair of red mittens,
pointing to the crows,
flapping his arms
and repeating over and over
I think several things simultaneously:
He is perfect.
I wonder when he will learn a word other than duck.
People can probably see him from the park.
Then as I so often do,
I think to get my camera
and when he asks later
why there aren’t more photos of him
I will tell him how moments are like bubbles;
you have to stay very still
or they will burst.