First Times

She is juicing oranges. Twisting both hands as she works. Learning the coordination and rhythm of this sticky task. She is quiet while she works, all her attention poured into moving her hands in the right way. It is wonderful to watch.
There are endless wonders if you have your eyes open and make the time to notice them. There are so many horrors too, happening right this minute as I am standing in my kitchen on a grey day with my golden peachy girl. How is that possible? I have been thinking about it a lot lately.
I am reading 'The Dust that Falls from Dreams' by Louis de  Bernieres and came across this passage this morning;
'...he found Sophie in her nightdress and dressing gown, sitting by the window, apparently writing in the air with her forefinger. He stood behind her and saw that she was disturbing the tiny motes that sparkled in the bright shaft of sunlight.
'Look at all the little shiny specks, swirling about,' said Sophie. 'Do you know what they are?'
'Do you? What are they?'
'They're the dust that falls from dreams.'
'The dust that falls from dreams,' repeated Fairhead, his voice full of wonder. He was only just beginning the long journey towards the revelation that he had married a truly original and remarkable woman, and felt again a pang of gratitude and incredulity.
'Yes,' said Sophie. 'This is the dust from last night's dreams. I'm writing our names. I'm writing with my finger in the dust that falls from dreams.''
I know not everyone's idea of contentment is to juice oranges with their mother or their child in a peaceful, quiet kitchen with a secure, quiet life. But I hope everyone has the opportunity to notice the dust motes, the dust that falls from dreams, and to write their names. I may have to start a 'contentment for all' movement. It's not a particularly strong rallying cry (I will work on it) but I hope you find a moment of true contentment today. I offer you a gentle fistbump across the digital divide from my kitchen to you, wherever you may be.

Comments

Popular Posts