Strawberries

I lived in the moment for the first time in my life, enjoying a strawberry with my little guy.

Strawberries.

We sit here, together.

Shoulder to shoulder.

You’re giggling.

I laugh.

You start eating around the rim of the strawberry,

cutting out a little disc with your teeth.

You stare intensely at the seeds,

counting one by one.

I watch you.

I’m here.

I see you.

The sun radiates the moment.

It’s warm, not hot, not cold.

I hand you another strawberry.

You ask questions.

I ponder it with you.

It’s silly.

It makes no sense.

We are here.

In the moment.

Fleeting moments

I sat on the balcony with my 8 y/o, eating strawberries on an outdoor beanbag.

I am my ideal father, able to spend the moment,

in the moment,

and not dwelling in the past,

nor running toward the future.

Strawberries are insignificant, it’s just sustenance.

And yet, in this moment, the strawberry is the universe, all contained in a juicy red delicious vessel.

I am able to be in the moment, with none of my baggage in the way. I am able to sit on the beanbag with him, hold him, and let him know I love him infinitely, without saying a single word. He would carry that love I have for him, wherever he goes.

Because I am what I needed back there back then.

Strawberries.