I feel sad, you say, you don't know why.
You hug the dog, neither of you puppies anymore.
I feel it too, like a breeze that blew past you and now I feel the chill.
The chill of time past.
cucumbers turned to pickles can never turn back.
Spring is over, the end of childhood.
I miss that little guy, always running, chasing sister, playing toad stew with Carrie.
Scared to sleep alone. Now your braver. So much bigger.
You the manchild. Me the crone.