My love, my daughter. It’s the first day of your next year. We walk out together behind the house to the field to catch the last pink gold of the same sun which has shone for us every day of these last nine years.
How can it be the same, when we are not? I am older. You are long limbed, running through the ploughed furrow with your hair streaming in the crisp evening.
Autumn in the air, you were the changing of my seasons. You made a mother of me, and every September I feel it – this same place in space; the distance from the sun and the shape of the light reminding me of the thousand tiny losses of my love for you, minute by minute, a second less of you for each second to come.
Perhaps I was not cut out to endure time. The exquisite pain of watching you blossom, grow, falter and change before my eyes. What did I do to be gifted this fortune? I am the richest I have ever known.
If I could carry you forever, I would. If we could just hold the sun, you and I, for these few still minutes together. To stop it going down for one more day. Hold hands and say, “we are here, and here we are, now” and that be enough.
The seasons will change again. Autumn will sweep through, winter will rattle our bones. In the pause, the beat of breath where my lungs are full, between heartbeats, in the space between seconds – look for me there. In the now, the here; the near, the far.
Love, threaded like an arrow through the eye of a thousand needles. That is what time is.
But for this moment, we can trick time. It will always be now. And I will love you for a thousand years.
If you like this sort of thing, check out a few of my other posts by clicking around this site. This is quite philosophical but there’s some idiotic advice and shit about failing at family life too, along with some poems, musings and the odd “travel review” (loose).
I put every new thing I write up on my facebook, twitter and insta pages, so if you follow me there you’ll be notified of new stuff, and sometimes get other thoughts, pics and writings too. I’ll also live tweet eurovision pissed as an arsehole once a year, so there’s always that too. Go on, live a little, join me.