After his first swim lesson, when Three walked over to the edge of the pool and jumped in without giving anyone any notice, convinced he now knew how to swim.
The flutter of the leaves on aspen trees as we sat on a little porch in Frisco, Colorado with our Pop-pop. It was my brother, my sister, her husband, my cousin, our grandfather and I, and it wasn’t exactly like it was at Lake Berryessa when we were kids, but it could have been.
When my dad told me he’d always wanted to watch the sunrise illuminate the Grand Tetons and so, the next morning, we woke up early enough to see it and slipped out of the RV while everyone else still slept. It was cold and quiet and spectacular, and it happens every single day.
On the shuttle from long-term parking to the airport terminal, alone, when I couldn’t shake that nagging feeling that I had forgotten something crucial for my trip to see my sister in Arizona and suddenly realized what I had left behind: the boys.
A couple of days later, at my sister’s house, when I woke up with a cough in the middle of the night, and she got up to make us some tea, then we stayed up whispering for an hour or so in the still, quiet house.
The deer that ran beside me for a few magical seconds, before prancing back into the wood.