This one.

This one moment first thing in the morning, when you swing your legs out of the minivan, reaching back to grab the two dark coffees from the tray, to hand one over to your waiting sister-friend, there’s no make-up on, you’ve come to walk and talk before the day begins, you have a lot of words for each other.

This one.

This one moment at the Farmers Market, when your hands are full of garden flowers, and there is homemade jam in the stroller basket, and your son is dragging a canvas bag full of tomatoes and spinach and cucumbers bumpity-bump down the street, and your daughter is telling someone’s great-grandmother that her sister’s name is Evelynn, too, and there is a piano on the corner of the parking lot thumping, and someone is singing loud, and you can smell the goodness of honest bread.

This one.

This one moment when you are swimming underwater, your hair floating behind you, you feel weightless, free, whole, you are enough, beautiful. And you open your eyes underwater, and coming towards you, like a mermaid, like a fish, like a dream come true, is a small pixie girl with a huge grin on her face, her hands reaching out in the water for you, and in the silence of water, your hands meet, your lungs are full of the air.

This one.

This one moment when you’re sitting at an old dairy farm, watching your son lick a strawberry ice cream cone, the back of your thighs are stuck to the chair, and he offers you a taste, and you slurp the half-melted sides, and you are tasting something vital, it’s so hot outside, he’s got strawberry ice cream on his ears, and you lick him clean with your own tongue, he’s laughing.

This one.

This one moment when a fat bumble bee gets tangled in your hand, it flew right in. You hold a trembling bee in your palm, in that moment before the stinging pain of it floods into the bend of your finger, a bee sting is just as awful now as it was when you were ten years old, there’s a circle of white heat surrounded by the rest of you.

This one.

This one moment when you’re driving down the road, the music is on loud, you tip your head back and the light is flashing between the trees, faster and faster, a blur of light and leaves. You reach out and turn off the music.

This one.

This one moment when you’re sitting at the vineyard, in your best blue dress, that boy you used to kiss in the backseat of the car still makes you laugh and he still makes reservations, he says three magic words, tell me more. A glass of white wine that tastes like pears is balanced between your fingers, there are chaste lilacs in the air. You think for a long time of what you would call this deep golden light at the end of a hot, full day, out here in the farmland surrounded by mountains, grapevines abiding. It’s content and satisfied, you say, this gracious light of the spent day.

This one.

This one moment, after you’ve dropped off the babysitter, when you’re driving home in the dark night, alone, in the quiet, in the gratitude, in the starlight and the streetlight. Your babies are all sleeping in their rooms, the windows are open, your husband is waiting for you at home, he’s made a few promises, and your hair still smells like pool water.

This one. This one. This one.

[sarah]

In which I advocate for being a person
In which I don't understand Syria
thank you for sharing...
  • Pin this page1
  • 23