In the late afternoon shadows, by the underlit leaves, near a tree bent by the weight of its own fruit…in the breeze between summer and fall: there, in the crook of a bush by a rock I spied a colored egg overlooked from last April, a memory of youth sealed like a wish, better left to itself.

Categories: parenting, poetry, prose, writing

Tags: aging, inspiration, mindfulness, nature, nostalgia, pacific northwest, parenting, prose, sentimentality, short form, William Pearse writer