Steven J Kolbe

-for Lulu and Gogo

Lucy doesn’t look back. She climbs in her idiosyncratic way—right foot, left knee, right foot, left knee—like one of Margot’s patterns from school. (Which comes next?) And I climb behind her, a human safety net against the treacherously steep and impossibly narrow staircase leading up to the slide. When she does finally look back, it’s only to see my face as she gleefully slides down on her belly. I wish I could be more like her.

The whole walk to the playground, Margot demanded, “Faster! Faster!” and now that it’s time to leave, she is racing frantically to the swings to squeeze in one more minute of joy. I know the moment we set out for home, she will drag her feet, instantly exhausted, and whine, “Are we almost home yet?” She is not one to save her energy for the tedious future but expends it all in the abounding present—a butterfly who sees only the flower, not the long field. I wish I could be more like her.