i'm not sure if it was the blanket of white petals covering the ground,
or the elaborate story will and i have built around his precious petal soup,
or the fact that these outings, in this park, in this neighborhood, in this world,
are suddenly numbered, suddenly poignant,
but this morning was pure magic.
quinn gazed at the branches overhead while will and i gathered petals
to mix with our rocks and wood chips and blades of grass.
on the way home we stopped at mr. ray's animals to give them a taste of our concoction.
will fed the deer and the squirrel sips of his water when they were finished,
and we laid dandelions at their feet,
a small offering to the gods of childhood and innocence and all things good,
to those kitschy little statues we've come to love.
a breeze blew every now and then and swept the petals around us up in to the air,
where they stayed for a moment, suspended, before floating gently back to earth.
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