When I came home from giving a work presentation on Thursday, I found my son playing outside with his babysitter. He wasn't playing ball. He wasn't riding his new tricycle.
He was trying to put the fallen leaves back on the trees.
"I fix the trees, Mommy," he said, in a very serious tone. "The leaves fall down. All the leaves are down on the ground. I fix them."
How long will this sweetness last? How long can it last, in this world, in a boy?
It's times like these I want to wrap him in an impenetrable armor of love, freeze him in love, preserved, in his untarnished innocence, like a butterfly in amber.
But I can't. And I shouldn't try.
(And I can't.)
But I can write about it.