Yesterday, there was an instant when everything collided into a single, perfect, beautiful moment of grace. A small, ordinary moment that probably seems insignificant from the outside, but inside my heart, it swelled far beyond the ordinary.
The morning had dawned crisp and bright, the temperature right on the verge of wanting your mittens but with a promise of warmth to come hiding in the wind. The mucky, mouldy smell of first thaw is gone and the air is sweet and promising even if the grass is still yellow-white straw. The kids chose to come home for lunch, so we ate together and talked together and laughed together and tidied up together. As we walked back to school with full tummies and happy hearts, it happened.
The sky stretched overhead in a breathtakingly huge cornflower blue and the sun warmed us as we walked and talked and laughed some more. Across the field, the school bell rang to call the children back to class and, with hastily blown kisses and “Bye, mom!” my two children stretched out their legs into a sprint, racing each other across the long-faded lines painted on the soccer field, past the goal posts, and around the tree, casting glances over their shoulders to see if they still had the lead, and by how far.
I stood at the invisible boundary line that divides the park from the school yard and watched them run, their young bodies stretching long and lean, somehow always taller and longer legged than I think they are. They slowed as they approached the paved area and I could hear their laughter bubbling back over the field they had just crossed. As one, they looked back, searching me out with their eyes. As one, they waved one last time. Then K headed left to the portable he is in this year, and B headed right to the doors to the school and they were gone.
But that moment’s grace is still in my heart and I’m sure I’ve been smiling a silly little smile ever since.