I saw a tweet quoting Marion C. Garretty:
“A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.”
It comes as Grandma and Papa are visiting, which of course makes me think of my sister.
The truth of that quote shimmers before me, as just hearing her name uttered, whether it is, “Abbie” or “Ab” or “Abigail” the screens of my childhood come quickly to the front. The light is honeyed with the fondness time brings, but every detail seems to come back—where we were, how we laughed, what we said.
Watching three new sisters weave in and out of one another’s moments of play, I can see the tender replays they’ll get, no matter what happens over the decades I hope will come. They’ll careen in and out of liking one another, but this time of romping and imagining won’t be marred by boys and competition when they look back.
Standing in my backyard watching the sun pour through the limbs of the gracious old trees that tower over the everything, I think the same can be said for friendship. There is an inevitable ebb and flow to how and when we cherish one another, the ways in which life can pull a shared path apart, but when you look back, the light softens the edges and you remember the love and play that was.
To Indian Summers and the memories captured between the borrowed sun and stolen moments.