all of the selves we Have ever been
There is a break in the downpour.
A ray of sunshine peeks out between the clouds and beckons me, “come to the window.”
As I scan the scene beyond the glass, I notice a carpet of new grass pushing up through the rain-soaked ground. The lawn is a vibrant shade of spring green, my favorite color in the Crayola palette. On a tree within reach of my window, the branches are loaded with new buds waiting to burst into a bright bouquet of cherry pink.
A mother and a beautiful blonde pony-tailed toddler sit on a curb playing, a variety of pink and purple toys surround them. An older man in a tan jacket slumps on a bench. A curl of white cigarette smoke dances in the air above his head. A maintenance man carries a shiny aluminum ladder. I can see the ladder's bright yellow feet.
A light flow of traffic passes on the street, a blur of metallic greens and blacks and whites. As the cars surf the giant puddles left by the rain, they send out a fountain-like spray of grey water. A deep blue delivery truck awaits the return of its driver. The white logo smiles at me. Car lights twinkle—tail lights, brake lights, and turn signals. The wet asphalt of the parking lot shines like a freshly waxed tile floor reflecting the glow.
Across the street a line of red, white and blue flags flap in the breeze. A lawn care worker in a fluorescent green vest picks up debris left by last night’s storm. He piles the twigs and branches into a rusty brown wheelbarrow. A silvery steel lamp post shudders in a sudden surge of wind.
It is warm outside. I open the window and welcome the cool, fresh air into my living room.
I sit on the couch. The breeze tickles my face. It is lively and cool. I relax and enjoy the sounds of life that drift in through the open window. I recognize the sweet, joyful sound of the toddler’s voice. I hear the passing cars splash through the puddles. A car alarm sounds briefly. I hear the vroom of a large truck and recognize the sound of the dumpster being lifted, emptied and banging on the ground.
The breeze quickens and rattles a door. The blinds tap the window frame and accompany the music made by the vibrating door.
Today, I have time to eat it all up—these too-often-overlooked sights and sounds of my ordinary life. It is food for the soul, a bread made of wonder.
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