I poked my head through the door this morning, intending just to peek, but feeling the morning air I had to step outside. Beyond our threshold I visited the past. The air was cool, damp even. The light had the calmer, weightier feel of a late August morning, there was a scent of endings. I padded to the edge of the porch and felt the cool planks beneath my bare feet, the morning air crept beneath my shirt and I drew a deep breath.
It was 9 years earlier, before kids, before New York. Summer was loping to a slumber, the intense, whirlwind days of June and July were past and the melancholy of another season’s close was seeping in. The memories of my time took root and though I didn’t know it at the time, I was both meeting and saying goodbye to my future.
This morning, while my husband and my babies slept I traveled back in time. I kissed a boy, who back then was just my baby.