Shimmers

Up this morning with the boy. Instead of our usual routine of letting the chickens out and coming back in to start breakfast and do cleaning, I brought my coffee out and we sat together under the apple tree, the chickens off searching the neighbors' yards for bugs. The sun was still just coming up, flickering on and off our faces as the apple's leaves danced in the breeze. Dew on the grass, the yard shimmering, like the first morning in the world.

The light Sunday traffic left the world quiet, room enough for birdsong and wind. Knowing how many other folks were also enjoying a day of free time lifted the dampening effect I sometimes experience from knowing that the blessing of leisure time is so unevenly allotted among humans.

Dismissing my invitation for him to "mow" so I could sit in the chair and enjoy my coffee in stillness, the boy preferred to snuggle on my lap and watch the day come. He discovered the tiny black and gold beads sewn to my skirt, but, to his chagrin, could not convince me to let him pull them off and play with them. So we sat quietly together in the perfect morning, he fingering his little discovered treasures, I stroking his clean, soft hair that glowed golden-white in the morning sun, both of us adoring the beauty we beheld.

Later in the morning, we joined friends and their family at a beach to celebrate the 2nd birthday of their daughter, our boy's playmate. A friend of the family, an avid kite-flyer, had made simple mylar kites for each of the children. He set them up in the sand behind our gathering in a loose zig-zag, their strings buried in the sand to anchor them. The effect was a marvel to behold. Seven shimmering splashes of color hovering above us, golden tails dancing and jumping in the wind, rustling their kite-music above us all day. It was such an announcement of celebration, of joy in being alive, that flurry of kites in the sky.

My parter and our boy spent much of the morning together, and I found myself with a rare opportunity to be alone. Our gathering was in full swing, everyone enjoying each other, and all of the children well-accompanied. I brought my then-damp towel out behind our bags and kiddie tents and laid it on the hot sand under the kites. I lay back on the ground, the sun warming me after my chilly swim, and looked up at the kites. They'd been given more slack to help them catch the wind and were higher up above us than when they'd started, just small patches of color speckling the blue sky. I closed my eyes, listening to their fluttering, to the family talking, laughing, happy together, the gulls crying their songs. The sun was like a hot blanket on my chilly skin, and the baby shifted in my belly. I thought back to the early morning under the apple tree, such perfect stillness and contentment, and loved the equivalent perfection of this boisterous moment in the world.

Later, I walked down to the water to join my family. They were sitting, the boy wet and chilled and perfectly content in his father's lap, at the edge of the water, both of them delighted in a game they'd invented. The boy's little wrinkled hands were cupped within my husband's cupped hands, both of them laughing as they tried to catch the water as the waves washed up and around them.