How is it that watching someone through a window can take you back . . .
Today, after loading 2 girls in the van, I waited for the first. She had informed me that after art class, which takes place in a shed out in the country, she really wanted to run to the other edge of the acreage to peek at the hens. So there I sat, watching the trees to my left sway in the late winter wind. Then suddenly in view is my girl, looking as if she was running toward someone, smiling big toward the hen house, and disappearing behind a tree. . . In a few minutes, she returned, bouncing through the air, hair flying, eyeballs hidden behind smiling lids. The camera in my head shutters in sports mode, trying to freeze the frame, maybe I can remember this one . . .
On the ride out to the country, the music was unharmonious, siblings fighting again, and on the road back home the screech would return. . .
Now in this moment, I couldn’t hear a thing . . . even if the other two were making noise behind me, I don’t remember. Like the director of a movie can take you away when he slows the footage and music plays softly. The silence was the music, her smile the beauty.
I thank the Director of my story for moments like these and the tap on my shoulder to stop and take notice, to flash the shutter on my mental camera, the lense of my heart in focus.