God, I miss him. Better put, my lens misses him. He sees the camera and he runs away or scowls and I've got to respect that. Doesn't matter how urgently beautiful I think he is, him in all his almost-sixness. He starts school in a few days, his first classroom of a lifetime of classrooms. I don't know if he'll allow me to capture it -- the new sneakers, the backpack, the schoolbus. It's a cliché but so is motherhood. I can't help either.
Here is my apple, he says. My lego. My dual-hulled tunnelling ship with grappling hook. I built that. Take a picture of that. Or Here. I am Wonder Man. Space Man. Invisible Man.
Yes, I say. You are. What am I?
He whispers in my ear. More than the moon.