Memory

I remember, when Mr. Barefoot and I first moved into that drafty and charming house that was to become our first home, how I used to get home with Big Sprout (then just Sprout) before anyone else was home. I would light all the candles I had around the living room, put on the classical music station, and Big Sprout and I would cuddle on the couch. Sometimes we would talk about her day, but mostly we would be quiet. We would watch the shadows flicker on the walls and think our separate thoughts, or not think at all.

Those were good times. I wonder if she will remember them when she is grown and has her own little Sprouts. Will she sit with them in the quiet and enjoy the way they fit so snugly up under her chin? Will she listen to them tell rambling stories about their daycare friends and the oh-so-important goings on in a 3 year old's life? I hope so.

If she forgets, maybe I will have to take my little grandsprouts and teach them the wonders of Chopin and candlelight, while dusk falls outside the windows and the first stars peek out of the darkness.

Until then, I think I will just go outside and see how my bare toes look in the moonlight. You are welcome to join me, if you want...