The joy and exhaustion of running after the first steps to stop them from stumbling into danger.
The gut-churning days of watching the self-same struggles tinted by a new time, which turns them into different struggles altogether.
The bridling of hope and anticipation so as not to overrun the emergence of a whole person's own path.
The handling of parting with a smile of confidence while the heart aches inside.
On my return, the dog waits on the terrace, the same but not the same. "Home is where you are," she says with attentive eyebrows.
Everything in its time.
On watching one's children spread their wings.