O.T.T.O.

I love how he runs.

On the beach.

Shirtless.

Belly first.

Fingers spread wide apart.

Hair so blonde it seems colorless.

Shiny.

Reflective.

Full of big boy ideas.

And shouts.

And clever plans.

I could count his ribs but he’s too feisty to catch.

His mood changes as rapidly as his feet shuffle across the sand.

And I guess it’s because

I know he’s my last

that I wish he would just

slow

down.