She was ten months old when I last saw her. Now, six years later,
I have only a few days to catch up, to connect with my granddaughter.
We blow bubbles, play mini-golf, toast marshmallows on a campfire,
and teach each other songs. My camera is always near.
The hours fly past, and I cling to the hope that she'll remember
across the grass
together. Her parents are missionaries, heading out on
stint in a foreign land.
For months, I've been
aware of the briefness of this visit. Yet I'm still not
for the short distance between hello and goodbye.
the shape of a hug