Let me tell you the story of a young girl. She had wild brown curly hair, large curious brown eyes, a small putty nose, a wide smile, chubby pink cheeks, and a mole on the right side of her nose. Picture her in a white petticoat, with large feet chasing after her as she runs, trying to catch butterflies with her muddy, bare feet. Unstoppable, rowdy, fierce, wild, loud, and giggling, she chases them. As her legs race over bare ground, she trips on a mound of soil and falls flat.
Her white petticoat now stained with mud, her curly hair disheveled, her giggles silenced. Her large brown eyes fill with heavy tears, her knees bloody and bruised, her skin glistening with sweat from all the running. She takes her time. But first, she cries loudly, extremely loudly. When she’s done, she takes a breath, vents, complains, and asks, “How did this mound come in the way?”
The large feet behind her kneel down, hit the mound, and say, “Bad mound, hurting my little girl.” But the girl knows the mound was always there. She was the one who ran, chased, and went barefoot without stopping. If she had chosen to walk, she could have avoided getting hurt. If she had chosen to simply watch a butterfly instead of chasing and wanting to catch it, she might have avoided the scrape on her knee.
Little Miss Wild Child gets up and dusts herself off. She chooses to walk. Her knee hurts, but she keeps moving. She has learned that if she wants the butterfly, it’s better to let it come to her without noticing her presence. So, she walks slowly, experiencing the trees around her, interacting with other kids her age, watching the parrots and pigeons fly past. She moves, but she pauses, knowing that, one day, an orange monarch butterfly will rest on her shoulder if she stops chasing. After all, although childish she is a Wild flower.
