Faye is turning four and she seems so proud, so swift, so certain of her own desire to grow, so delighted. And I feel so proud of her (or of us for taking care of her?) and somehow I can’t help feeling this tiny sense of loss, since the enchanted part of early childhood will soon vanish — or is vanishing already — that odd part of someone’s life where things are mostly joy and mostly not anxiety.

How is a fourth birthday possible; how is this a real child; so recently Faye was just concept art, a possible future, an abstract desire among the parents; but reality has long since outpaced us, we’re becoming obsolete, or even if we’re deeply needed, we’re still headed for obsolescence…

“What do you see?” I asked her one day as we sat outside.


“What do the leaves see?”

“The sky.”

“What does the sky see?”


“What do the clouds see?”

“The ground.”

I feel I have almost said enough. I have processed whatever I could process. I have let go of things I needed to let go. I should let you go soon.

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