The day feels dotted with tender moments that resist being written down, fixed in place. It’s cliché to say they are like butterflies, but that’s the experience: Oh! Then the gently held breath, eyes trying to follow their movements:
Spruce bogs. A list of reptiles and their traits. A brush moving through hair. A strawberry malt. My mother, surprised and delighted to recognize us. An old home still full of living magic. A phone call (and another and another). And a reunion like planets passing for a moment in alignment, like a reverse eclipse, like a chrysalis emptying and a new creature just filling its wings–
All the things I can’t hold, can’t look directly at, can’t look away from.