He runs down to the river
I mean really runs
so hard the dust flicked up by his rubber thongs partially obscures the back of him
his excitement is palpable
his delight contagious
ah, the river
slow lazy fat and brown
cool wet deep and inviting
on a relentless 40 degree day 

as he sheds first his bucket hat 
then his T shirt 
and flips the flipping flopping thongs from his feet
he lets out an exultant “Whoop!” of sheer unadulterated anticipatory pleasure
as he leaps off the steep sandy bank 
defies gravity
and launches through the air like a rocket

his board shorts balloon out behind him 
his pale thin and lanky preadolescent body curls into a foetal position as 
he flies across the water
to execute a classic 12 year old bomb

and i smile and smile all the while
I remember this time this place to where I always wanted to return one day with my own child 
to make it what I always wanted it to be, but never would be for me
a life disrupted, interrupted
father and son
I am content