He counted "one, two" over and over, carefully walking up and down the brick steps.
He hid behind bushes, crunched through dried leaves.
He examined his hands, one covered in a mitten, the other housed in an old sock.
I begged to go inside. His simple "no" rang with joy.
He looked in amazement as his shoes imprinted the scant snow with patterns from his rubber soles.
"Come here, mommy," he instructed as though these corners of our yard had never been explored.
* My plan is to start a new "series"--simple snippets of moments I want to remember without pretending that there is no bigger or broader implication.