singular memory
He won’t remember those moments of his childhood where we just explored
Walking hand in hand as the clouds gathered, deciding whether or not to storm
We explored ancient trees, he and I, sitting between the exposed roots, telling stories, making up voices and characters.
Then a sprinkle, a deluge, and we laughed as the rain would soak us, running from tree to tree playing hide and go seek with the sky.
After the quick storm scattered, the puddles were there to explore, to stomp in, to look for fairy kingdoms. He acorn tops floating were the hats of the elves, he assured me, and he would look for tiny footprints or other items of clothing.
His blond hair would curl around the top of his earlobe as his hand curled around my fingers, pulling me to the next adventure.
He wasn’t quite four and no longer remembers the Mom and Marc moments, but I do, and I remember each time I see that sparkle of wanting to learn more in his eyes. His excited words curling around my heart.
