Growing Up

The little fellow couldn’t wait
To show me his balancing act
He had stacked all the cars his sister
He no longer played with
Atop the stump of a tree
That couldn’t bear another cyclone
He let go of my sweaty hand
To point to his installation
“But your favourite red car is at the bottom”
I asked, catching my breath
“Yes, it would be the last to fall
If the wind is too strong”
He spoke with plain belief
That perhaps only seven-year-olds have.