You walk into the kitchen, tall and proud in your rugby uniform. The light falls on your face, wakes a heart memory.
You giggle as you run. Tiny feet pitter-patter on the warm deck. Your hat merely a blue blur on top of a pink shadow, the only piece of clothing you’re wearing that summer day. Before I can catch up, you’re reaching over the railing, picking a lemon. You almost fall backward into the sulky bush as the stalk finally gives and you laugh as you hold it up to me for a lemonade. There is so much sun on your skin, in your eyes, in my heart.
The toddler is forever gone but the lemon light still shines on your skin.