He coasted past me on his bike, nine or ten years old and an empty afternoon to fill. He looked back at me over his shoulder, and I smiled. Shy, but not unfriendly, he gave a little wave. Then, he turned forward again and dropped his hands to his side, balancing the bike with his knees. As he approached the hill and picked up speed, he put his arms out like wings, and glided like a bird. The joy of flight, of speed, of the wind in his hair - it was irresistible. He couldn't have contained himself even if he'd wanted to.

How sweet those moments, when what you feel on the inside is so easily and honestly expressed on the outside.