I don't want to forget:

Sitting on a bayside park bench in a chilly wind with my mom. The sun glittering on the bay and trying to warm us. The kids tearing around from play structure to play sculpture, getting the lay of the place before descending, scaling an octopus and a sea monster on the very same day. Slicing cheese and handing it out on pieces of apple or cracker, having short conversations with other parents, a friendly golden retriever, my mom sitting with her feet tucked in and her hood up. Autumn swiftly approaching, the dear small sentences my mom and I say to one another.

Later, running along the beach in the dusk, the mallards plunging to the bay water, splashing into the great still mirror. Woodsmoke in the air, my footsteps and heartbeat and breath in rhythm with one another, the other walkers and runners saying hello, bright Jupiter hanging suspended. These aren't things you can pay for. The tiny lighthouse warning small boats, the curving blue plain of Canadian sky. A blue heron, gliding above the water! He dips his wings and pulls the night air behind him, reaches forward and does it again. He is so beautiful as he lands on a rock and turns his eye towards me that I wish I could truly enter his regard, that someone like me could be important to him, but of course I am not, so I turn around and keep on running, into the deepening night.