If she had wings, She could fly...

I saw a little girl holding a huge hand in her tiny fingers in my mind today,
white and red polka dots on the black dress,
her tiny feet taking one step at a time,
a little afraid at first, afraid to fall.
Her father, her mentor encouraging her,
and soon chuckles of feeble laughter
reverberating through the silent park,
and then she let go of the hand, the support preventing her fall,
landing on her padded bum looking around in a confused haze.
Her father stood back and watched never making a move to help,
"Get up baby" was all he said.
She stood up once again on her tiny legs and wobbly knees,
and took a step forward, a tiny one...
just testing if she can walk on her own,
then another, then another..
A small smile breaking on her round face,
each step more sure than the previous one.
Each new step telling of her confidence on herself.
And soon she's running around the park,
feeling the exhilarating independence.
In that moment, if she had wings, she could fly...