for two whole days, we shed our coats and bared legs and arms. that warm, mid-spring sunshine was oh so welcome. we met our days slowly, seeking brunch and iced cappuccinos and whole days spent by one another's sides. we walked to the historical society's museum to see tiffany lamps and audubon's sketches of birds and the exhibition on the vietnam war. we greeted the just-born blossoms by the lake and ate vanilla cones with rainbow sprinkles and met friends at a french bistro for onion soup and trout. when it rained, my christopher and i helped each other find pockets of time: one pair of hours for me to write, another for him to exercise and nap. when he woke, he settled into the kitchen to make meatballs for sunday supper. we added the rumble seat to our stroller; francis is too curious about the world around to ride in a bassinet any longer. his pudding-soft thighs kissed the breeze and the grass and a picnic blanket for the first time. this occasion is small and humble. and yet. it, too, is a marvel. it is one pearl in the strand of his life. it is the beginning.