Thursday, December 16, 2010
Time in a bottle
She’d been up for a while, but had moved around the house so comfortable in her skin, quietly sharpening her colored pencils, that none of us noticed. She wasn't even bothered by the freezing floor tiles on her bare feet. The rest of the world didn't matter to her. Her world was complete.
For a fleeting, poignant moment in time, the earth’s usual rotation was suspended, like the arm of a record player, hanging, poised just over a spinning disc, knowing its power, for once it lowers and makes contact with the vinyl, the entire room will be at its mercy.
Even after she saw I was awake, usually her cue to tap into her inner needy person, she didn't seem all too interested in me. She went into her room, sat on her bed, and sang a quiet song to her stuffed animal, Pepsi.
And the more we have these moments in our house, the more I am sure that the earth is indeed spinning, and rotating, at warp speed and I have not the slightest modicum of control over where we are headed and how fast.
Because once you get so accustomed to the noise and the din and the chaos of being needed every second of the day, the sound of that din, when it stops, is as deafening as a door slammed in your face.