This is the stuff of dreams and crazy camera angles. The haze of tiny soft circles obscuring my vision, for a fraction of a moment I am in an entirely different place. I am four, eating the snow off of the branches of pine trees. I am five, playing piano upside down into a tape recorder. I am eight, riding my uncle's old road bike far away from grandma's house. I am eleven, in a nest of blankets on my day bed.

Something very tiny snaps within me, and I am perfectly, completely, happy - for only just a second. Then the water ripples away and I am left alone. During my bath, I shift in my tub and petals fall from the top water spout. I brush my hand over my hair and feel soft water dripping down my cheeks. It could be collections of steam, it could be sweat, it could be tears. Involuntary souvenirs, clinging to me, dripping down me, displaying my momentary need.