Home Planet: Moments in time fly by too fast to grasp
The man standing next to me at the corner, waiting for the light to change, pointed to the crimson and gold foliage of the trees lining the boulevard, and said, “Look at all that beautiful color. It’s like it happened overnight.”
I looked around, and it did seem as though the display had been put out while our heads were turned.
It hadn’t, of course. For weeks the landscape has been subtly changing. Summer green fading to expose the color that was underneath the whole time. The metamorphosis took place in tiny, almost imperceptible, steps until one day the difference was so strong and so obvious we were dazzled.
Like the bulbs I just planted. They’re snug now in flower beds, ready to be blanketed by snow, kept warm and well-fed while they wait for spring, but when they burst into bloom at the first sign of warm weather, they will catch me by surprise.
I was still thinking about that when I stopped by a little downtown café for a cup of tea. The room was crowded with a noisy family that had taken two small tables and gathered chairs around to seat everyone. There were several generations present and I wondered about the occasion that had brought them all together.
The oldest member, an elderly woman who was curved and bowed, deeply settled into her own frame, was in a wheelchair. Her hair was as soft and white as snow and her face, a round full-moon lit by sky-blue eyes, was etched with lines and wrinkles. She sat quietly, watching and listening to the buzz of conversation around her. Whenever anyone spoke to her she would smile and give a slight wave.
Beside her a young woman, a granddaughter or great-granddaughter perhaps, sat holding a baby in her lap. The baby, propped up, her heavy head resting against her mother’s breasts, was delighted with all the activity. She watched the toddlers run around the tables and chewed on her fat little fists, cooing happily.
Then, as if someone had called her by name, the baby turned her head and looked right into the old woman’s face. She smiled one of those wide, sweet smiles that babies bestow. Like bright sunlight breaking through a cloud.
The old woman lifted her chin a bit and smiled back at the child. Slowly, deliberately, with obvious concentration, the baby put out one wet hand, a tiny starfish hand, toward the woman. Smiling, still looking into the baby’s face, the woman lifted her own hand and touched the baby with one finger. Immediately the child’s tiny fingers closed around the old woman’s. Both had struggled with the effort.
The funny thing is that when they touched, I swear I felt a current move through me. It was alive and electric.
Contact.
The baby’s hand went back to her mouth and the old woman’s hand dropped into her lap. It was over as fast as a shooting star and I don’t think anyone else witnessed it.
I finished my tea and walked slowly back to work. For the rest of the day I was slightly addled by the memory. Each time my mind wandered, it stopped on two sweet, open faces, separated by a lifetime, connected by a touch. Spring and winter side by side.
I wondered if the old woman, when she felt the child’s fingers close around hers, had glimpsed her own life, a long life with many seasons that have been full of happiness and heartache and countless ordinary moments, and thought the same thing the man on the boulevard had said when he noticed the change of color all around us.
It all happened so fast.