She listened to them talking, out on the front porch, measuring their silences, poised to jump up and walk by if they were quiet too long; torn between remembering how wonderful it was to be in love for the first time, and wanting her daughter to be five again. Not that it had been so easy then; but it was familiar, and she suddenly craved the familiar. This part of mothering was uncharted territory; her daughter's vulnerability was more than she could bear. This was not going to be an easy afternoon to shoulder; but shoulder it she must, and she resumed typing with one ear out the door.
And then he was gone; and as her daughter wafted into the house, she was suffused with memories.
© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel
Sterling silver, peridot, lampwork by Gail Kops of Beadles. Hand fabricated.