The rain came a day late. I was in the middle of writing about Amsterdam, a place I’ve never been, when the little one approached, “Mom Mom Mom.” He waved the rail trail map at me insisting I pay attention. So many of our conversations stemmed from intuited gestures, the space between knowing and articulation. I forgot what I wanted to write. Something about how they ended up in the Netherlands quite by accident; a missed train on a late night when the sky drew scarlet ribbons into dawn.