To be a child.

She ran at a pace that was above a jog, but below the pace that was any real attempt to get away. The perfect kind of pace that matched a childish chase. Her head turned and she gazed behind her, her summer-sky blue eyes filled with delight and not losing sight of her chaser even as her white-blonde hair cascaded in her view. Behind her, he chased her at a pace that never intended to catch up on purpose. His strawberry blonde hair seemed red in the autumn sun, and glittered almost gold at the small wind that would pick pieces of it from his head. His mud-brown eyes pinned on the blue eyed girl, and his pink lips were spread in an open-mouthed smile with a laughter that harmonized with her bell-pitched laugh. I watched them give chase to one another from my spot, and admired them for a moment. The girl couldn't have been more than three, matching the boys age. Even in their youth, their chase gave way for the imagination of young love. On purpose, she fell and rolled dramatically across the grass still laughing. Aside her he fell and rolled too until they both lay on their backs and gazed up at the rare clear-blue sky. He pointed into the air and talked quietly to her, and her hands raised to her mouth to stifle the giggle at whatever he said. Breathless, they laid in the grass and tucked themselves away in their own little world, unbothered by the flurry of business around them. I admired that.