Monday, February 28, 2011

Golden

This is it. This is the moment.
I am sitting on the far corner of the couch and you are curled up like a kitten on my chest. Still sleepy. Fresh from your afternoon nap, your mop of bedhead rests just under my chin, your arms at my sides. It is silent. We say nothing.
There is just holding. There is just being held.
Suddenly from the right, the setting sun bursts forth with its last call.
In its slow fall toward the horizon, it has slipped a step and stretches between the tree branches and through the blinds. Its last breath casts a warm glow across the whole room. It catches the top of your head. It cuffs you on the ear. It holds my hand on your back. It has captured something. Something I know that in seconds will disappear behind the tree branches. The ones already turning black in their Sunday-evening silhouettes.
And I realize this is it. I am still, but my heart races. I run my fingers through your hair, quickly before we lose the light. I watch the sun rifle through it like late-summer wheat. It is a race. How can I memorize every second? I can't. But I will not let this one escape. This is a moment to tuck into my locket. To keep forever. To revisit when you have left the nest.
It is all mine.
Stolen.

3 comments:

Sylvie said...

Well done. Must have felt your mood in the little video you sent me yesterday evening, because the sense of time sweeping our baby into boyhood was what gripped me while I was watching it. Once again I am so happy you are keeping this record.

Houpley said...

i know. any time i think maybe we are babying him a little i think "too bad kid, we're going to slow this train down!"

Anonymous said...

Not stolen. These moments belong to you.