This is it
This is it
I think anytime
I crouch down
to face my child
zipping her jacket up.
This is it
This is it
I think.
Reaching across the passenger seat and
smoothing my husband’s wayward eyebrow.
This is it.
This is it.
All of us windblown.
All of us here.
Wow. This is exactly what it's like for me. The presence required in every single moment—with my son, the sun, my dog, my husband, myself, the black walnut tree outside my writing window. It’s a lot, honestly, exhausting in that bone-deep, soul-stretching way. And yet so wildly powerful.
This is just so exact. Perfect.