Kids are dancing, asking questions. Kids are learning to talk, making friends. Kids are laughing, rolling across the floor. Kids are everywhere, you are not here. I see children with big eyes in this house. They look around and discover. They are related to you, I imagine your eyes. The kids imagine flight, you fly. Peter Pan was a boy forever, you will forever be an infant. Finger tips to the moon, touch a dream. Leaves turned into birds and birds into leaves, depending upon the wind. Which wind would blow me to you? I think the West Wind, a wild wind. A strong wind that soars on mountain tops and through canyon cresents. A wind that whistles through the spines of trees. The wind that follows my voice as I whisper a wish. A wish for my baby to be alive outside just as he was within. I whisper your name Frost before I go to sleep and that wind brings me a little closer, even though time has taken us farther.
It's almost been two months and my arms still ache. You should be here. So many people wanted to meet you, but you never even had a shadow. Could you blow us a little kiss on the gentlest of winds?
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.
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