Ask not if she loves nature.
Watch instead her quivering
purple lips
and drenched hair plastered
on cheeks,
after playing in the rain and splashing
in muddy puddles,
all alone for an hour
when only the night before it took
also an hour
of persuasion then coercion
before she stepped
into the shower.

Ask not if she loves nature.
But watch the fear
and exhilaration in her wide
eyes
as she charges into the crashing
waves, dumbstruck
and reaching for your embrace
even as a hopeless
swimmer.

Ask not if she loves nature.
But watch that two seconds of silent
bewilderment
at the tug from the other end
of her fishing line,
before the spell was broken
by her companion’s scream
and the realisation
that she has landed her first ever
catch.

Ask not if she loves nature.
But watch the satisfaction
in her smile
after she swings off and lands
deftly from that particular
branch of that particular
guava tree.
The one she declared
as her favourite
branch.

Ask not if she loves nature.
But watch the lightness
within her skip
and her hop;
a bouquet of tiny
wildflowers
in her right hand, picked
for her mama
back home.

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Inspired by the petulant “NO I don’t” that our daughter gave in reply to our friend who asked her if she loves nature.