A summer of yellow.
Of sprinklers and popsicles.
Of laughter and late nights and sleepy mornings.
A summer of playgrounds and baby pools and movies.
A summer of imagination.
Our summer of yellow.
Dancing in the Wind
1 May By
The sun showered down on us in slivers through the leaves; its brightness muted by the blossoming greenery.
Gentle breezes came and went and gracefully carried the kite with it as it blew, then gently placed it back on the ground when it stopped.
I watched the green kite dance in the wind as my little boy ran delightedly behind it, laughing and shrieking with joy at its flight.
A small let down in his face presented every time the breeze stopped and picked up just as quickly as it began to once again trace its steps in the wind. I watched as he trailed behind it and smiled, occasionally distracted by the flowers or rocks beneath his feet.
Cars on the road and the chirping of birds provided a background soundtrack to our moments of beauty.
I wish I had been able to capture this in a picture. This day of sunshine and breezes and the bright green of the kite contrasting with the bright red of the shirt my son picked out to wear this morning. Capture the exuberant smile on his face as he watched the kite dance in the wind and the way his hair ruffled with the same rhythm. The way the sunlight cast highlights in his hair and caught the sparkle in his eyes. Capture the playfulness of his laughter.
But there was no time for a camera and no way a camera could capture all of that anyway, so I stayed there in that moment, trying to narrate in my mind the beauty I was witnessing. I held the kite. I heard the laughter. I felt the breeze blow the kite, my son’s hair, and my body. I delighted on the pull of the kite string and the vision of my son running after it, and then sitting, perched in position for the gathering of flowers and rocks we would later take home.
I tried to encapsulate this moment in my mind. This view. This laughter. This dance of love happening in the wind. This brief moment of perfection.
He began to tire, and the breeze began to fade. It was time to go home. Whining and fussing would quickly take over if we did not go home for rest.
But in that moment, my life was a fairy tale. A picnic at a park on a random Tuesday, where my joy was encompassed in the dance of a kite and a boy’s laughter floating in the wind.
*Today, my little guy is 33 months old. Where, oh where, is this time going?
