You can’t click a moment

You can’t click a moment

Chicky’s short brown hair flicked violently in the wind, rows of hair contorting up and down and across his forehead as he looked up.

Sitting in the back seat of this roofless car, next to his brother, I watched them.  Both smiling as they arched their heads back into the seat staring up into the afternoon sky above them.

I peered over the head rest of the front passenger seat and watched my littlest man sit with his arms crossed over his folded up knees.  His toes a little grubby from no shoes, his small, delicate but decisive fingers clasped onto his knees.  His neck is strained up and he smiles so happily as he looks into the sky.

I turn back around in the seat and quietly thank something bigger than me but no one in particular that today was one of those perfect days.

The kind as you grow older you remember that day.  Years go by where the colour of the day, the feel of the wind on your face, the water as you swam – feels as though it is today.  A day that brings a smile back on your face, whether you’re sitting in a meeting or quietly making your way home.

Beau is sitting in the same position as his brother, exhausted from the day out and enjoying the simple pleasure of the wind on his face.

The cables of the bridge slice the sky above us and I lay back into my seat and watch.

‘Dad, it makes you feel like we are going backwards when I look up’, I hear Chick over the wind.

I look up and watch the cables overhead.  He is right.  The sky feels as though it’s folding behind us.  That perfect day, folded neatly into our minds, perhaps stored away for a quiet recollection in years to come.  No image can capture the moment I had.

In the meantime, I have the privilege of capturing these little moments with my sons, at once bestowed for me to enjoy, are carefully folded away in my mind as a treasure to rediscover at whim.

INFO: You can follow John Meyer on Twitter: @daddydearest_ and on Facebook: DaddyDearest

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