I remember looking at the world through a child’s eyes. Seeing blues, greens, browns, and hazel on heads high above me that wavered like birds searching for a high tree-top; those eyes seem more frequent now. Now their quieter, more reserved than most because of all the things that their child-like eyes had once seen on past moons. Now, no longer a child I can see the things that they see on the round-a-bout of green and blue that holds so many passengers. No longer children eyes we can now see the things we weren’t meant to see.