Whisper Spring

Dear Kirk,

I think we both notice that now at mid-life we linger over moments of beauty, moments of grace, moments that satisfy, moments we both need to hold and encourage, moments when the longing finds rest. Like yesterday when the sun broke through, the clouds dispersed, and the daughter wanted a park. We walked transfigured by the bright smell of spring into fawn princess and her friendly giant. We followed the creek past the melting ice of the outdoor rink toward the sound of children delirious with colored bars, rope castles, and plastic rocks. Seeing the bearded man with his stringless guitar we smiled then climbed the bank to the playground. "Swings!" she cried and so swings it was. She sat opposite the other children and I pushed her from the front, first by the soles of her feet, then by holding her waist and hoisting her up over my head. She closed her eyes, dropped her head back and let her curly hair drag in the dirt. I stepped to the side and as she swung past I whispered in her ear, "Spring." She laughed and said, "Say it again. Say 'spring' again." And so I did.

--Mark