Last Friday, Grace, Whit, and I walked home from school in the snow. We stopped at our local playground and they spent an hour running, jumping, building snowmen, and laughing. I laughed with and at them, my fingers got numb, and I kept flashing back to the many, many hours we’ve spent at this park over the almost 12 years we’ve lived here.
Like this hour, in May 2003, when Grace was 7 months old. In the same swings she’s standing on above.
And this hour, in June 2006, when 16 month old Whit couldn’t stop hurling himself down the green plastic slide. It was covered in snow last week, but he still went down it over and over again.
Then, now, sunshine, snow: it all blends together into a beautiful swirl of memory and longing and color and life.
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