I’m having a tangerine at the park, with the sounds of creaking swingsets in the air, sunlight kissing the swaying blades of grass. Then two children not more than 4 years of age ran across the field to the patch of dandelions a stones’ throw before me. The girl fell to her knees, plucking bouquets of golden joy, but the boy went for the white blooms of mature flowers, a blow away from dancing on Zephyrus’ breath. When he had a couple, he stood, and the first thing he did was hold one out to the girl, giving her the first chance this year to send the seeds flying on innocent laughter. They turned to the trees, and with a breath 3 times their size, they sent them scattered to the winds like a thousand fairy umbrellas to live, live again.
I don’t know why it touched me. Maybe it’s the thunder on life’s horizon, the unexpected lightning, the clouds of doubt that can obscure the sun, the friends, the love right in front of me. But there was something about that child, his first thought being to give, that hit me. That’s the next generation, and it is full of hope.
And now it’s hard to see the clouds at all with all this sun.