Not the Ocean

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They aren’t an ocean, not the vast depths of unexplored and untouched waves that expand and envelope most of the planet,
They aren’t a striking swirl of deep navy dappled in the reflections of innumerable balls of gas held in the skies by their heavenly hosts,
They aren’t the ever present blanket that rests above us, the one flecked with soft tendrils of fibers woven by unseen hands to dance like sheep across pasture,
They aren’t
They’re so much more,
When I see them… what do I see?
They may not be the ocean or the sky or the shade of sadness that swells up and pools in the window of people’s souls,
But they’re much more beautiful,
They are the small pools of dew left after the ground is drenched in showers
the small reflective dips filled with pale blues that reflect the sky, edges so dark they echo far away oceans but that is not what this is,
It becomes what it truly is when a child is boots like drops of sun decides to have a little fun,
When the small feet hit, sending ripples of the water slapping the edges of the puddle, and small swirls of soils and mud rising around the center,
That is what they are,
That is what I see when he looks at me.
No depths of the ocean.
No horizons of the sky.
No waves on an open sea.

His eyes edged with deep blues that fade in an intensity to deep shades of mud thrown into havoc by the boots of small child just looking to have a little fun.

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