I should...

I should sneak out for a run.

My family is plugged in to miscellaneous electronics, and I pull my laces tight.
I think I ought to feel guilty leaving them this way...but I am actually delighted.
On the nimble feet of my teenage self, I tiptoe out the window.
Using my thin spider legs, I slip into the mischevious night.

The tops of trees make a web across the sky and I skim over it.
Each time I think this may be hard, or I may be old, I relax into my muscles and my breathing.
I become light again.

This practice has been with me for 18 years.
I don't run to be fast or strong, not really.
I run to realize where I am.

As I walk back to the house with the last air digesting, I see Pepper.
I see our morning walk to preschool.
I see her be so small on the crunchy rocks with her feet in sunday shoes.
Her satin princess cape ripples over the gravel.
Wild hair unfurls from the top of her crown.
I see Beckam in the rickety old stroller, his fat calves pudging out from his seat.
I see myself, tired or not tired in my sweats and weak ponytail.
And I know:  it is all good, even this small memory.
Life can grow from here, we have more than enough of what is important.
Green shoots up from every crack along the concrete track back to my house.
It is over now, like a dream this scene fades as quickly as I can recall it.
She is already in kindergarten.
I can only remember preschool Pepper for a moment when I walk this sidewalk.
Like an unexpected angel, I revel in her presence.
Soon this memory will be replaced by an older version of her, and Beckam will tower over both of us.

When I return to my house, it is with open eyes and plenty of space to receive what I find.