Touchstone

May 12th, 2007
Family, Mothering

It was the first warm day of the season. We drove to the neighborhood park and piled eagerly out of the van, lifting our faces to the sky with relief. After months of bumping into dark walls and dark moods, the four of us–Matt, Sam, Thomas, and I–swallowed the light and air in great gulps.

I found the perfect place to roost–a flat section of the play structure that was sunlit without glare. Matt and Sam ran for the slides while Thomas perched next to me on the landing, poking his stubby fingers into the drainage holes. I breathed in and out, in and out, inhaling spring, exhaling winter.

After a few turns down the slides, Matt and Sam were ready to explore. They left me behind and headed for the barely-green field adjacent to the play structure, which stretches nearly as long as a city block. As soon as Matt hit the new grass, he began to run. Sam looked at me to see if I approved, and when I nodded and smiled, he took off in pursuit. I watched them go, almost able to feel the muscle fibers in their legs lengthening with each stride.

I wondered how far they would run before they looked back.

Sam didn’t last long. After twenty paces he glanced over his shoulder, making sure I was still there. As if I might have disappeared when he moved away from me. I waved him on. He ran another twenty paces, then stopped. He looked at Matt far ahead of him, then back at me, deliberating. Then he started running back to me.

Matt made it most of the way to the far side of the field before he noticed. He paused for a moment, calling to Sam to come back, to finish the journey. But when he realized he was the lone traveler he ran again, quickly covering the remaining yards between him and the stone wall which marked the edge of the field. He touched the wall, turned, and began to run back.

I watched them come, two little boys returning to mother. The sight of them bobbing across the field was as delicious as the sun on my cheeks, the breeze lifting my hair.

And I thought about my own mother. How my life is a series of circles that begin and end with her. How, no matter how wide my orbits become, how far my universe expands, I always return to earth, needing to touch stone.

Both comments and pings are currently closed.