Friday, May 31, 2013

june then

It was June then, June and almost July.  We walked around the fountain outside and floated fallen flowers on the water.

Already there were edges we teetered on.  Our rhythms ran a little ragged. All the unspoken easements we'd been used to, he'd been used to, now required words, required re-adjustment.

He was happy.  He was scared. 
We were scared.  We were happy

He gathered up fallen dogwood blossoms and tucked them behind everybody's ears.  His hands graceful as birds and quick and soft.

"Four petals," we said, he said, "like the number of children in this family."

The number of children in this family now.

We wore our flowers all day.  People smiled at us, nodding as we passed.

When it was time to go, he didn't want to leave the fountain, the flowers floating there.  The sun came slanting low. The other children rose at my call.  He stayed, leaning over the water, leaning further over the water. Pushing the flowers, little boats, out a little further with his finger.

Already it was time to go.

When I placed hands on his shoulders to bring him with us, he whirled around. 

"Fine," he said and snatched the blossom from behind my ear, threw it on the ground.

Later he gave it back.  Or another one just like it.

This year has been like that.

This year has been like this.

1 comment:

Lisa B. said...

Boy does that video make me smile and cry all at once. Thank you for sharing it, and this.

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