It has been...so long since I've sat down to see this space. I've felt contemplative and we've been busy, and this writing space got forgotten. Tonight I'm up listening to music while the two I love best and brightest slumber deeply and moonlight haunts my eyes.

Earlier, I sat just to watch the sun settle down in the sky from my seat at the window and felt awed with how beautiful and captivating the sun is as there is less and less of it visible to our eyes. This evening, this weather, both remind me of days spent walking along sandy beaches with our dog panting hard and trying to get at the seagulls, tugging his leash and giving us doggy grins as the sand flies in our eyes before Little Berry was even a dream. We were young and fresh and crazy in love, wild for one another and begging for more stories of the lifetime spent before the other came along.

Those days seemed to go on forever, holding hands and making jokes about old couples sitting in the sand while the world went on without them. It reminds me of the first day we spent in Paris and how long the day was because we'd flown in with the sun, how bright the sky, how fresh the world. The sun set so late there, we stayed up staring out our window over the rooftops hearing people whistle and musicians singing songs from their patios, us practically foraging for food, uncertain what the menus said and too hungry from walking, walking, walking- to care what we were served.

I have memories of watching airplanes go by as a child and wondering if I would ever fly in one. Wondering what it would feel like to sit in one, what exhilaration would overcome my heart, what mystery spoiled at the glee of flight? Wanting to see the world in a different way and believing strongly that it was never going to change. I know now that the world can change in an instant. That our lives are mere puffs of smoke- or fragile, finite frames of glass made to look at but not to alter. We might be transparent and fragile, easily turned to slivers and shards, but I do believe we are ever-changing, growing stronger, and by nature weaker, all at once.

Motherhood brings out the whispery side of me, the side that plans tea parties and sees magic in rainbows again. I make bubbles from scratch and play dough with home made dyes because I want the best for my little one, while what she will remember is not that I made it by hand, but that I played with her, making orange ducks and squishy blue clouds. And it is indefinite, because I never know how long it will last, when she will wake up and no longer want my snuggles or kisses, no longer need to fall asleep in my arms. The magic of childhood is rarely in the recipe you
use, its instead in the giggles while you share over a dish made together with miniature spoons and served on tiny plates that are painted with strawberries in a makeshift fairy garden with a dog by your side.

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