I’ve been thinking of one of my favorite poems today. Published some time ago in Mothering Magazine, it is called “Take Pictures” and is a poignant look at how fast it all goes.  The end gets me in my heart every time I read it:

“Holding tight to my neck, my son
trusts – he knows no other way – my touch lightly
dries his tears. I am his queen, his goddess, handily
his slave. Blink, it’s a photo again, a trick of the eye,

a frozen captive of time, paper, light and silver: my son
is a grown man: he drinks from his own hand.

Reader, I urge you,

spin slowly, take pictures, remember to laugh.” (emphasis mine).