I seek to cement in my daughter what she may forget; what the world will surely attempt to steal from her. I run beside her, handing her worn linen bags of jewels I’ve tried my best to keep clean: moss, river stones, birdsong, damp soil. I trip and fall, navigating uneven ground through tears on unsteady legs and lose my way, then catch up. I try to hold her gaze for as long as it takes—
Gorgeous.