I recently blogged about the need to find the space and time simply to contemplate the series of precious and never-returning moments of our children growing up. Like this morning being chased around the kitchen by my daughter brandishing a vacuum cleaner.
This is a favourite poem of mine, which wonderfully describes the yearning for time simply to stand still.
At the top of the stairs
I ask for her hand. OK.
She gives it to me.
How her fist fits my palm.
A bunch of consolation.
We take our time
Down the steep carpetway
As I wish silently
That the stairs were endless.
Beattie is Three, Adrian Mitchell, Heart on the Left: Poems 1953-1984
