i have a photograph of my oldest daughter's first day of kindergarten. in it, she's wearing a lands' end polo dress and white socks. you can't see the color of her sneakers but the backpack strapped behind her is almost as big as she is. she's clinging to me for dear life, her head tucked into the hollow of my hip, and the expression on her face is one of pure terror.
that photo was taken just about 25 years ago, on a rainy september morning in pennsylvania. katie's all grown up now, and baby jake is turning three this fall - he's clearly not a baby any more. it won't be long before katie's taking jake to kindergarten and giving him her first last hug good-bye.
i don't remember much about that long-ago morning, but the rain and a general rush. this one's much calmer - there's no bus to catch, no frantic dash for last minute signatures or lunch money. libby's a pro by now - she's well-organized, and she drives. as with so many things, this turning comes as gently and as quietly as the tide.
and furthermore, the war will end. blessed be.