I’ve just returned from a very pleasant summers evening walk. Millie and Bea happily trotted by my side and ocassionally scampered off to chase a squirrel up a tree, or to check out their wee-email at the foot of all obliging trees. The sun displayed its last rays of glory in a steel blue evening sky. The temperature was comfortably cool.

I exchanged pleasantries with a neighbour and his young family. He asked me if I could remember what it was like when my children were like his. Memories came flooding back like a raging torrent. I found myself stormed by the emotions of happy days, and a longing for the impossible – that they would return. My own childhood too crept in like an old friend who snuck in to enjoy the family reunion.

The happy young father had no idea of the impact of his words upon me. I replied to my neighbour that I could remember those day vividly and that their childhood passed far too quickly. The words, “Make the most of this time. It goes too quickly…” hung in the air unspoken, but I could see from his eyes that he heard them anyway.

Maybe I’ll get to enjoy days like that again with some grandchildren. I hope so.