the blue breaks. I am seeing my daughter's jumping,jumping with a friend. Sun bouncing on the
trampoline as the canvas shoves them too, pushing back. Jumping because they can, in a whitestorm or the blue. Me, seeing
because I can not, not. Can not move from this place, so rooted am I to this spot of being eight again. As they sit on the
roof of the playhouse sharing stories, hairs bent, coupling to whisper secrets so close, every ear holds the murmurs. When they bite,
we can all taste, our apple's tang pulling us with every mouthful. Savor it inside our heads. Touch the laughter rolling off
that roof. And I stand still, placing this space, and this moment in our lives. Light shimmering abounds our jumping, our seeing,
the movement toward the window and away. Remember the reddening leaves, remember the snow brings freeze. But for now, we
blaze. Coloring trees. Oranges match her wind pants, treetops echo yellow soccer socks. Birds, sing a recitation of this palette, of this jumping in the stillness.
by Julia Burns, a mother, teacher, and child psychiatrist. She practices with her family in North Carolina.