I can already see that I didn't linger long enough and now would be a great time to remember how the banks of the creek would shine on the weekend. Grabbing as far up on that rope as we could and getting a running start on a single board nailed to a limb over the cold, cold water. Letting go of that rope was an instinct honed by repetition and knowing the place so deep that we'd never touch unless trying harder than we were going to try right then. Maybe it was in flight or in the splash or the panic of you've gone too far, you didn't catch enough breath or changing directions and breaking the surface to see him smiling which made that place so special then.
Either that or it was the ride home or how we slept when we got there.
Today I am grateful to see him smile and the feeling that I could again.
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