“Magic persists, with or without us…” an excerpt from a Charles Bukowski poem.
That moment this morning, in the kitchen.
That moment of respite in the midst of Nico’s whines, Ben shouting from the other room about Legos, the hustle and bustle of trying to get kids to school. There was this moment when I heard Nico giggle.
I looked over and saw him (bare-chested because he had only agreed to wearing pants today) tickling his own armpit.
“Tickle tickle tickle!” he said, then cackled.
“Tickle tickle tickle!” he said to the other armpit and laughed again.
And there it was – the choice.
The sanctuary, the oasis in the desert, the calm in the storm. Right there.
I laughed with him, teasing it out, wanting to stretch the moment a bit more, knowing it was fleeting. He has been SO sick this week – constant high fevers, four seizures over the weekend, endless snot, acetaminophan suppositories, constant tears — and then this moment.
It was so delicious. Perhaps for all of the misery that preceded it.
The magic persists, like a ripe apple, ready for the plucking if we could only look up and see the bounty overhead.
It’s hard to look up sometimes. Hard to step out of our narrow view of the world and see that there is another way.
My walk this morning, or really, any of my photo walks is proof of that. There is all this great stuff – glittery beads of moisture in the grass, the impossible beauty of the pincushion center of a dandelion, the way the light rests in a gentle stripe of orange on the tips of the trees.
The magic persists with or without us. It is indifferent to us, yet always ready, willing and available.