March 15, 2012
I step outside, inhale the damp air deeply, and notice this first blossom on my forsythia bush. There is no going back now, it is truly spring. My son arrives tonight for a visit. Brief and rare, his anticipated presence has me dreaming backward, remembering the sounds of childhood laughter, the joy of releasing their wriggling energy into the yard I now survey, thankful when it turned warm enough to play outdoors. I stand for a moment, shaking my memories out to air, and then fold them carefully again to put away. Too precious to lose, too poignant to linger in long. The past can be difficult to navigate, but today it simply brings a smile of fond recognition. Such are the lives of mothers.