Crepuscular Perfection

The author and her young son holding hands at dusk with the last bits on sunset in the distant background.
The author and her young son holding hands at dusk with the last bits on sunset in the distant background.

Starts and stops. Hesitation and disjointed struggle on the other side of the door handle.

Squeak of the creaky door. “Hello squeaky door!” said the bright face.

The face, at door handle height, beaming with earnest scheming.

“I just want to say goodnight!”

All perfection in that embrace. “C’mon, you can stay up late.”

We spent just an hour wandering the pink pavement of the neighborhood in long dusk searching for berries and holding hands and talking.

All perfection in that moment.

“A crisp is like a pie, but we can eat it for breakfast.”

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