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.