The sky was perfect, the sun golden, the wind light and delicious.
My children were almost half as wild as they can be. Actually that's not true, they were perfectly well behaved and remarkably kind to each other.
It was a perfect day.
Except, I miss my grandparents, and their ghosts were following me all around the land of make believe. I could see my grandma standing outside the haunted house (yes, the same haunted house they took me to when I was three.) I'm fairly sure no one has dusted it in the last thirty or so years.
My grandfather standing back and watching me in the field of candy canes. The maze I used to run through as fast as I could. The train ride that I thought was hours long when I was younger was really just a couple of short minutes.
It seemed like every time I turned the corner I was fighting back tears. Sad tears, as I know I missed the ends of my grandparents lives, and happy tears as I watched my own children play with their great grandfather. I get so caught up in every day moments of what I need to get done that we don't visit with people as much as we should. We do the dishes and the laundry and the cleaning and the packing instead.
Oh, it was such a perfect, bittersweet, wonderful day. A day I will hold on to till I'm taking my own grandchildren to visit the same park.
Another minute I want to hold, shining in front of me, and watch it in my mind time and again and again and again.