while they play.
From my kitchen window I watched my children play. I sat by the sink, elbows propped on the counter, my chin tucked in my hands. I watched them run and swirl as the cool November breeze carried their little feet across our yard. As I watched, it felt like they ran across time. Jumping over days, hopping on weeks and even skipping years.
This time, these precious moments, passed in front of my eyes. I tried to move my hands, to grasp my children, to pull them back, but my hands were glued. They supported my chin, my elbows on the kitchen counter.
Surely those can't be my children, I thought to my self. They are too too big, they have grown through so many weeks and days, like the vines of a plant spreading further and further. Rooting itself in the grounds of my yard and slowly creeping out to new boundaries.
The sound of a slamming porch door made my skin jump, my hands fall. I was back in the present watching the children play. Watching my children play.
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