At the playlot, where we took Sam as an infant to toddle,
Jackson says: It’s all about the monkey bars.
Elizabeth remembers how, long ago, in his ludicrous puffy snowsuit, we had to stuff Sam into the baby swing, like a giant marshmallow.
Sam says: What’s a snowsuit?
Meanwhile the ivy has come back to life, its brown stitchery against our gray stone walls suddenly flush with velveteen leaves, still unfurling, the color of molten lead, and all the flowering apple and pear trees festooned with petals up and down the block.