36

Detaching from the wall, the shadow slithers fluidly into position like a coiling cobra, fang extending toward the morning's prey. Eyes rake the terrain, studying the movements of the target, measuring breaths and intentions. Swift and without sound, his weapon moves to ready, fingers bring tension building up to release...pwfst...simultaneously two projectiles slam into his shoulder and forehead leaving him silently screaming, sprawled across the table, sinking back into the darkness...

You realise if you guys keep shooting each other with paper balls out of your straws we will probably get kicked out of the restaurant.

Boys giggle, my head stirring as I crack an eyelid to peer around the room at the growing silence and gasping stares.

Today I turn 36.

I am acting my age.

Why is it that the older we get the less we play? As a kid our minds are cracked wide open with imagination, but adulthood seems an exercise in sewing it shut, one stitch at a time. It seems to be happening younger and younger...

My birthday wish for you, take time today to play.

Play kick ball.

Find pictures in the clouds.

Blow bubbles.

Go have fun.