Fleeting Things

On Sunday, before pulling the motorboat out for the season, we took a spin around the lake. It was unseasonably warm, like a late September day. And although the leaves peaked two weeks ago, the oak trees have kept their leaves, and are still bright orange. The sky was blue, and the water shimmered in the bright midday sun. Little moments like that are as small blisses fallen from heaven.

Last night was one, too. My youngest daughter is almost twelve, and on the verge of being too old to be taken about trick or treating by Dad. And she almost did not want me to. But she did let me.

There are so many Halloween memories, my own, both daughters. They were so small in their first costumes, kind of clueless about how to say “Trick or treat” before and “Thank you” after, but they were excited, almost like Christmas. To take my much older daughter trick or treating is like a last wisp of connection to those innocent days, like the orange glow of oak leaves two weeks past their prime. Things are beautiful because they are fleeting.