I watch the heavy drops form waves and slide down the car windshield. A spring rain is sopping the lawn and trees. Then it happens. The blades of grass begin to dance; the tree line beyond the morning haze undulates. All that was motionless a moment earlier now moves. I sit looking deep into a portal where every field and sunflower that Van Gogh’s eyes captured lay pinned to his canvases, still damp with paint and wiggling.
the toddler can’t