I look up and summer is almost here

I tuck Celeste in to bed, shutting the door behind me

And walk across the hallway, stopping under the skylight

I look up

The breezy shadows dancing off the walls

I wonder if it is midday

It’s that time of the year

when

Time is stretching, unfurling, unfolding

As if it has nowhere to be

As if it can dangle its toe into the flowing river to cool off all afternoon

As if the nostalgia of summers gone by and ease and youth and small problems are all we have

I look up

And it will have been three years since he died

As if the bright green spruce tips emerging at northern altitudes and the stone fruit ripening on the trees in the valley and the grapes darkening the tips of the vines up the road

Weren’t told

To stop

To stand still

To remember

To mourn

To breathe

To look up