I’m not sure if it was the long drive through the open fields of green wheat rows, rolling hills, and waves of starlings flying over the road -- or if it was a normal afternoon’s desperation, but there it was: as we pulled into town, the long shadows met us, and I knew I would be restless until sundown. You came home afterward. Remember -- the joy in your voice and the laughter that lifted up behind us as we rode the tandem bike, that child-laughter? The air was so cold that I pulled my sweatshirt hood up over my ears, and our fingers felt brittle on the handlebars. I imagined that your fit of happiness that day was as spontaneous as in your childhood -- all those times when the snow floated down, and you lifted your head to catch it on your tongue. It’s as though I had a glimpse of you then: a recollection of a memory I’ve never had. And later, when the impressions of the rest of the day came trickling back to me, small footsteps quickened my pulse and stole my restless
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