Two-Year-Olds

There is music in his eyes, in his hands, in his knees, his toes. He can't help moving when I play or sing or tap a beat. His impish grin delights my heart; the pure innocence of his two-year-old joy makes me glad. Sunshine pours through the window, bathing her in golden light at she fits a puzzle together on the floor. Her fingers are confident, her brow furrowed in concentration. The puzzle is finished; she looks at me and claps her hands, her own two-year-old joy blending with that of her brother, until we are all laughing and the sunshine is warm and I wonder if everyone would be happier if they spent more time with two-year-olds.