I hear a voice fluttering in the air. It glances off the bluest sky I’ve seen in what feels like months.
um…yes. For what?
WELLLLLLLL…it trills….you’re out here, in my arms, and the sun is locked on to your skin, can you feel it? And the back of your neck has loosened, your walk has slowed-your feet don’t hurt, and you aren’t struggling to breathe. You ARE breathing!
It scoots off ahead of me as I try not to trip over one child while convincing the other two that a road isn’t a place for a deep conversation about transformers. I growl, they move marginally slower as my youngest begs/whines for my hand.
It’s a lovely day to see through their eyes, isn’t it? it sings around my head.
It sighs, stomps little tiny feet. I feel the air pulse outside my ears.
How long do you think you really have? she breaths. How long will they be this little, this happy, this untouched. How long?
ok ok. I’ll pay attention. I will (sulk)
How long do you think you’ll live? Forever? Tomorrow? How long until you can’t see this blue sky? This grass so green and furlike-only a single thread keeps you from rolling in that. How long until it’s gone?
What does that have to do with anything?
Ever felt eyes roll instead of seeing them? Felt that, sticky itches on eyelids.
Your mother must have thought she had forever too.