Pinwheels make me think of Avery. When the breeze picks up and they begin to spin, catching colors from the sky, reflecting the sun, the colors of the garden, the fading tulips and the peonies just in bloom, I remember Avery on his second birthday. He could watch a pinwheel for hours, but of course the wind never lasted that long.
His eyes are blue like a river; his hair is the color of ripe wheat. He saves the first hug of every morning for me, and we begin the day with a spoonful of raspberry jam straight from the jar. Avery is my middle child, a fraternal twin, and at five days old, he was diagnosed with Down syndrome.
Avery is almost five, now. In the summers, he helps me gather raspberries from the bushes around the garden gate, careful not to touch the thorns or squish the fruit. We cook up a steaming potful of jam together, which I ladle into jars. The jam cools and the jars go into the freezer where they wait, full of the surprising goodness of summer. Avery is my summer boy, my Sunday's child, and my life with him is full of grace.
I write about our days at my blog, Pinwheels, and you can sometimes find me here or here.
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