LEO

When Leo was 10, he placed 55 candles on his birthday cake. His mother asked him,

“Leo, why do you have so many candles? You are only 10, honey.”

He replied,

“Mother, I have not been 10 for many years. Like the branches of the trees outside in the forest, my exterior does not represent my true age. Just as the shell’s spirals record the crashing of eons, my fingertips, my eyelashes, my lips breathe life, a life passed onto me, just like the life passed on to you, from the buttery wings and the tree trunks before us. Next year, what will be my 89th, with another ring around my core, another number added to my sequence, the wonder I experience shall be even greater, and shall gain momentum year after year, ring after ring, wave after wave, until my being melts into ash and ignites a flame elsewhere with someone, or something, new.”

Leo’s mother turned to him.

“Pardon me, sweetie, what did you say? Your brother almost stuck his face in the cake.”

“I said thank you for the cake, Mother, it looks yummy.”