TIME

With young children, the toil is constant.

Endless.

A relentless sea of labor.

Drowning in waves of service with but one ease in sight.

Time.

Age would take away worries.

Years eliminate butlerdom.

The future, a desire, a hope for independence.

Earth’s persistent encircling of the sun drew a chapter to a close.

An era concluded.

A wish granted.

Gone are the days of diapers.

Of kissing the boo boo away.

No longer to fret that tiny fingers may meet a socket.

Oh, how I miss those days!

Damn the obscenity of that wish!

What would I not do to have the miniature version of my hand reach for mine?

To grasp with all the strength and trust that one could muster.

Never can I relive those days, misjudged.

Babies, a curse, a gift.

Toddlers, a test, a game.

The magic of childhood, the winding down of a clock.

Nevermore to be rewound.

Now only, magic in memories.

Left only to wonder: Was it good? Did they enjoy it?

By Bryan Evans (3/14/23)