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Little Girl

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I said goodbye in a month like this; in October when the breeze grows cool and the geese grace the mountain skies on their yearly trek to warmer places. I looked at her little girl face for the last time - a smile so like mine, mouth turned up at the corners in a way that hid the way she felt and eyes so wise. She was chewing her gum, she was acting like it didn't matter. "Just another gig," she whispered. And I hated her then, for the way she hid and the way she denied. Hated her almost as much as I loved her for her sweet courage and the songs she sang.

But I knew I'd not be back to this place again. Not back to remind her that she was important or to comfort her when she cried. Not back to know her at all. I was going far away, to find a new life and to make a new home. Oh, if I could only take her with me... But she said no, said it was just too far to go for outcome so uncertain. I spoke of the future. She entertained the past, danced with the ghosts we both knew so well.

So the time came, and I did as I knew to do. I walked away from that little girl and into another place. The seasons past gently at first, and then later came faster. Days became years. Twelve Octobers just like this one separated me from that little girl and took her memory from my mind forever, it seems. Children were born, and love caught me in its warm embrace. Stories were told, jokes were made. I made new friends, and said goodbye to some too. I counted stars and watched the sun rise and set. Time twisted around me in a dance of its own, never stopping and never fading the bright and beautiful colors of my life.

And I just came out to the porch this afternoon to feel the breeze and to listen to the song of the geese overhead. I came here to watch my babies play in the sunlight and to smell the last of summer's treasures before the winter steals this scent. And in the corner of my eye, I saw that little girl again. She was standing there, just on the edge of the field with that strange little smile that either meant she would run or she would dance, but one never knew which. She had her sunglasses on and her hair pulled back and the years had taken nothing from her. Nothing except me. And suddenly she seemed so small standing there alone, so much smaller than I remembered her to be.