Fireside

The scent of wood burning drifts across your cold skin. The child thinks instantly of marshmallows, but you think only of days spent in lakes or seas and the heavy sleep that follows a summer day in the country from which you came. The soles of your feet are softened in the sand; he climbs to the top of the dunes and reels with laughter the whole way down. You realize there was a time when your every day was spent laughing at his wonder. Your gratitude over this knocks the wind out of you.

An email in your inbox reminds you returns are imminent, reminds you of Penn Station chaos on a Friday night and the million things remaining on your to-do lists. Vacations are only as good as the moment they're in. Roaring fires turn into embers with time.

Let  the warm air on your skin
linger.