Isabella left her hat
upon a post painted green
next to the well
where it would respond to the folly of a vicious wind
in the early summer.
I watched it as I left
knowing that she was going to miss it
yet powerless as the march of time
commanded my presence elsewhere
I was sympathetic for her loss
as the waves rippled the surface of the water
that we had so recently fished to catch memories
that neither of us would remember
and yet the hat
just waved in the air.
It was perched upon her head when we arrived
as she charged from the car with the other kids
and they all laughed and cheered as she
worked the rusty sounding hand pump
bringing forth the water fresh from spring
water rich in iron
to strengthen the blood of love.
And now ahead of her
is a tunnel that she will travel
encased in the darkness of unknown
with an innocence left behind like her hat
upon the pole near the lake
a hat
that was also green, a vibrant green.
I see upon that pole
a history that has yet to come
of loves lost and found
of life lived and loved
of even tears wiped away as those who love her
watch as she becomes her own person
watching with great emotion as
their little girl becomes a woman
while still flattering upon that cold summer breeze. .
The wind takes the hat away
and I stop my car and rush into the field
the grass is too tall and the wind too strong
and I watch it sail away as if a cloud
or as if the promise of a child
and I cannot catch
Izzy's hat.
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