Wrinkles

Sunlight slides in  through the foggy windows of  November's dreary days and I am at elementary school. It is cold and gray. The clouds hovering over this long day press against me and as much as I love what I do here, I want to go home. Running down sidewalks wide enough for us to hold hands, we are kites flying under trees so tall we can barely see their tops. Their leaves puddling around their feet, and ours, like crisp dresses dropped where they land with no thought of right or wrong. I am part of all this. We are kindred spirits. Twirling and swirling until the sun reaches down to peck us on the cheek before it runs away to hide again. I know my mother is waiting for me, baloney sandwich on the table. I am almost home and something special is about to happen, something magical. I can feel it.

Clouds swallow up the sunlight and in one glancing instant shimmering waves of sadness wash over me and I feel my body creaking. Morphing back to now where I am no longer six, but nearly sixty six and -- for one moment I wonder how I got here.