Spring

Spring blossoms float.
They waft lazily on the breeze,
shimmery in the sun fog

on our cool-morning walk.

You see them.

You say,

"Snowflakes, Grandma!"

and you lift up your arms

with your face turned up to the sky,

twirling in circles.

The flakes kiss your eyes.

Your delighted laughter

bubbles out.

And I stop

and I smile

and hold this moment

close

in my heart.