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The Day’s Delight: What You Can’t Hold

The day feels dotted with tender moments that resist being written down, fixed in place. It’s cliché to say they are like butterflies, but that’s the experience: Oh! Then the gently held breath, eyes trying to follow their movements:

Spruce bogs. A list of reptiles and their traits. A brush moving through hair. A strawberry malt. My mother, surprised and delighted to recognize us. An old home still full of living magic. A phone call (and another and another). And a reunion like planets passing for a moment in alignment, like a reverse eclipse, like a chrysalis emptying and a new creature just filling its wings–

All the things I can’t hold, can’t look directly at, can’t look away from.


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