I watched him through the window, my second son, a little bit more than a year old, on a sunny and mild afternoon in late winter.  He was wearing his blue overcoat and red rubber boots. I was watching as he discovered his shadow for the first time.  He moved from side to side, then lifted his leg up high and brought it back down, his eyes wide with wonder at the darkened shape on the ground that followed his precise movement as he stomped around.  I was careful not to interrupt this moment of discovery, not to let him know I was watching.  It was magic, a stolen moment, and I was the thief, hanging on to it all these years.

I watched out that same window, only a moment later, his six foot five and twenty four year old frame towering over his car in the driveway, as he finished loading the last of his things.  Then the car was backing out and on the road, and he was on his way to the rest of his life.

2 thoughts on “Thieves

  1. Beautiful, Dave. Simple, direct and beautiful! Because you and your entire family have always been an integral part of mine I realize that I may be biased in my critiques of your work so I try to imaging the writing as from some unknown person and then it seems if anything to have even more impact. I would definitely want to know that writer at a personal level. I’ve been going through my saved paperwork this week…so much is from you. Like Nick, I plan to pack my car with the precious things I can’t leave behind when I head out for the next phase of where my consciousness takes me when I leave Planet Earth for somewhere else in the universe one day. Your stories are going along. Take care. Your old aunt.

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