April 7, 2020

signs of life

A boy down the block is learning to ride a bicycle. A few afternoons ago,
we saw him on that long stroll we take to get out of our heads for an hour,
down where the swans are nesting - or were, until the geese interrupted them.
I don’t remember the sound of the bicycle, or even the boy himself, despite 
his advancing form on the sidewalk, or the street we were on or if the magnolia
had blossomed yet, or if the sun was out, or if I was wearing a sweater, or if we were
holding hands. What I can say is that everything felt like it was on the verge
of being over, and we in that strange limbo of anticipating losses we could not fathom,
and the boy was riding a bicycle, and his mother was keeping a few feet behind him,
hair loose at her neck, arms untethered, watching herself let go and watching him fly.