When does childhood leave you? Does it leave? How much notice do we get? If you could request it how much notice would you need?

Is there an alert in your head that says ‘better enjoy this mud-squelching now, because next summer you’ll be way too busy to get to a dam. The summer after that you’ll be way too exhausted to even consider it. The summer after that will slip by without you even taking note of the changing seasons. And a few summers later, when you do find yourself staring into a dam you’ll be wondering about what else is lurking in the water, how clean it is, what happens if some of it is swallowed either by mistake or on purpose, why you didn’t think to bring a change of clothes for your children who are already sopping wet, how quickly you can jump in and save one of them, fully-clothed, if need be and whether leeches prevail in the area you’re standing in.’

Adult and child. Rope puller and pullee. Giver and taker. Receiver and giver. Need and want. Do and say. Say and do. Mirror and face of time that trickled by. A puddle of water left under your feet that lets you remember when you used to jump without thinking, go without asking, live without resisting.

Yesterday I was a child again. I watched my two children run, splash, explore, discover and bask. And even though my adult mind was racing at a faster pace than usual with all the could-be and might-be scenarios that an unknown body of water in the country can induce I let the rope go.

I let it go limp. I even let it get wet and a tiny bit lost in the mud of the day. To be a child. I let myself remember as I watched them, soaking up every bit I could before little bodies grew cold and it was time to pull the rope back in.