letting go, just

I watch him gathering days in arms, like handfuls of sand, spilling, pouring, into an hour-glass with never a grain lost. His voice, once sweet and melodious, cracked, now fed on adult's breath. His steps impress, they sink deeper into the dirt, confident and sure-footed with knowing. He no longer looks back to make sure I’m still there to care and watch. In fact, his furtive glance away, shows I'm about to become somewhat of an embarrassment to him when in company of his friends and mates, though he's too kind, good and shy to admit it. So I just, let him go, just stand and watch at a distance, when I can, amazed at what my son has become, when let go to grow.