Actually, it might be the trailing edge of the receding wave.  Actually.

There was a time when our daughter started nearly all her sentences  — pronouncements? — with “actually.”  She was maybe six years old.  Actually, if she reads this, she might remember.  Remember saying “actually” and remember how old she was.

It was a fun time.  They were all fun times and how little it seems we appreciated them.  I was thinking about that with the trick-or-treaters tonight.  Gone in a blink, a tiny puff of wind, a glint of a raindrop.

There was a science fiction story called “Slow Glass” in which one could look out one window of a house and see the past again, in slow motion, from ten or twenty years before.  A wistful notion.  Precious, actually.