On Returning Home

by joelmckerrow

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Every time I leave for a few days and then return my daughter hears me from wherever she might be in the house and she squeals and she runs, headfirst, she runs, straight at me, she runs and all I can do to not burst in that moment is take her in my arms and kiss her squishy cheeks and run my hand through her hair and laugh with her laughter. My daughter splits a moment in two. This is what it seems. She strikes the mundane until it flows with magic.

I am exhausted and the plane ride has been long and the landing is never fun, but none of this holds a dime when she leaps into my arms and the moment is struck, like bell, like gong and I am undone and I try not to burst but I do and the moon does too and the stars are all screaming and I wonder if this is how God would be, how eternity feels, how deep the substance of life and love that is waiting for us in every moment, should we choose to open our arms and hearts to her.

 

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