As we walk down the street together
through the fall leaves,
my hand holds Little e's hand.
I can feel how soft her hands still are,
how fragile her bones still feel,
how small she still is.
Sweetheart G does not hold hands anymore.
She prefers to link her arm through mine.
And,
I am thrilled with the contact;
that despite the strength of her arm
and the firmness of her grip
she is not too old to walk with her mother.