My neighbors have a daughter who goes to preschool at a church up the hill. Late afternoons her dad takes off with an empty stroller to fetch her. When they round the corner onto our street, her mom runs down the street, arms wide open, to meet them. Every once in a while, I catch this little scene and am overcome with delight.
I thought of them when I came across this poem by the late Irish poet Eavan Boland. It’s such a gentle poem, quiet, and evocative of summer evenings and ripening fruit.
“A woman leans down to catch a child
who has run into her arms”
