I saw a little girl running with a jump rope 

In the empty parking lot behind the high school 

a family has parked their van with the doors blown open. 

The father is thin, a biker or a runner, with a long 

red beard from months of quarantine. The mother 

could be a runner too, skin-tight leggings, not 

from fashion; the practiced care of three young children, 

perhaps a husband who wanders in a dreamlike state. 

I walked by, masked for the times, hidden smile 

remembering parking lots and bicycles, safe asphalt  

for practice and play. They ignore the man walking by. 

The oldest, a boy, helmeted, fiercely peddles his bike. I can’t 

remember what his sister was doing because the youngest, 

a little girl about three, old enough to run without falling, 

throws herself into delight of balance, captures my attention. 

She emerged from the van with a jump rope, a simple 

object, began to run, trailing the rope behind, twisting her 

neck around to see the plastic grip bounce up and down as she 

ran, a smile splitting her face, her mother watching, feet planted apart, 

arms akimbo, back to me. I could not see if pride, delight, fatigue filled 

her eyes. My eyes were filled with memory and something 

like awe. A child, running, taking a simple thing, ignoring its purpose, 

its design, transforming it into something not yet imagined, creating joy.