Rythym of Life

Source (picture of rain hitting the ground)

Rain drips from the budding trees in a steady rythym, creating circular ripples on the surface of the puddles below. Squirrels dash across the lawn, seeking shelter in each tree. The wind ebbs and flows, and an old woman rocks and waits. Cars pass in a never-ending parade of errands and earning but the woman’s ears are listening for one car in particular.

It arrives with a low purr and shifting of gears. It stops close to the porch, and the old woman ceases rocking in anticipation. She sees the hair first, fiery red, like her mother. It streams in the wind, like a fire in the mist, as the girl dodges the raindrops on a full-out run.

Her mother emerges more slowly, unfurling an umbrella and walking to the porch with an unhurried pace. The little girl has already leapt into her grandmother’s arms and begun a steady stream of news before the mother arrives at the porch. She sits with her daughter and mother and pulls out her phone. She has to answer her emails. Her job depends on it.

The old woman smiles at her daughter and granddaughter. She alone knows the score. Someday they’ll be the grandmother and the mother and she, herself will have moved on to another realm. For now, though, she would submerse herself fully in these precious moments. Only this moment was life.

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