Unscripted. Unedited. Real.
Writing for five minutes.
A sort of writing flash mob.
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Completely taken by the joy trail that fluttered on his arrival.
Immediately accepted.
Embraced with a love strength that surprised and delighted.
Carried constantly.
Squeezed and kissed, seventy times seven.
Gazed at, caressed, completely delighted in.
Held by the hand in everything, but most connected when alone.
Despite lengthening years, the love growing roots and clinging deep.
Loved so hard until thin places developed, serving only to reveal his center, the stuff he was really made of.
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Could the way that I loved this childhood plush grant me a glimpse of the divine?
Could it reveal, in ways new and yet examined, that I, too, am cherished?
