I kept a log of France. It was quick, uninspired, un-poetic.
It was functional.
I wanted to keep track of all the places I was seeing; all
those beautifully foreign names seemed bent on slipping through my fingers. I
figured if I wrote them, cataloged them, they’d somehow find more permanence.
They have – kind of. Now I wonder: why was I so worried
about ancient names to ancient cities? I should have written down the words, the
expressions, the daily hugs that came from Noah, Isaac, and Bentley. Turns out
those are the things that slip away, the moments that are precious and only for
a moment.
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| Who wouldn't miss these awesome kids? |
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