What is it? A late afternoon sun hitting lace through the window. Later, as I peered outside from the same spot, as the sun readied itself to sink into an orange sea, I saw my oldest son skateboarding in the driveway, back and forth, and I was sorry I'd put the camera away. He managed to do a trick he'd been working on. I missed the shot. The expression on his face was sweet, filled with pride, surprise, an eagerness to do it again. And it's gone, now...a moment having passed.

I am reminded of another time I missed a moment - it was two years ago and my husband and I had taken the children to a running race in Carlsbad, California. I walked around, carrying my still-little daughter, with my second son Adin at my heels. Along with my husband, we all watched Jared run his age-group's race. We applauded and caught up with him at the end. Immediately, my husband grabbed almost-5-year old Adin by the hand and the two hurried to start the younger group's run. Jared, Marah and I waited for the two to come around the bend.

Many children much younger and smaller than Adin ran separate from their parents - I expected to see Adin alone, too. Suddenly, I heard my name and I saw Adin and David running in the center of the group, Adin's hand clasped tightly as ever to David's and smiling the biggest smile I think I'd ever seen. They waved wildly, never letting each other go, and ran on ahead...I missed a picture because I couldn't carry the camera and hold Marah. But to this day, to this moment, I can see those two like it was happening right now.

A part of me thinks that if perhaps I'd actually taken the shot, the memory wouldn't be the same. One of so very many, the image keeps, perfectly reflected, and becomes something I will carry with me always.