Puzzle Piece

My daughter, barely one.

Her brow furrows gently at the puzzle piece she turns in her small, earnest hands.

First upside down, she tries to make it fit into its waiting space.

Then sideways, a soft huff of breath.

Then, right side up, at last. It hovers, nearly seated, a breath from clicking home.

So close. She cannot see. So close. She doesn't know.

A determined frown, she flips it back, upside down again.

How often am I there, standing at the threshold, the very lip of breakthrough, only to turn away, never knowing how close I came?