Jumping in puddles

I was meeting a dear friend. She and her little son were over from Ireland to sort out some stuff as she moved back to her emerald paradise some time ago. There was an impending thunderstorm coming. As I approached the cafe where we were meeting, I could see her leaning towards her beautiful son. Here she was, my friend who looks like a celtic fairy. We met in daylight, and as we sat on a sheltered terrace the sky darkened deeply. But there was so much light surrounding us.

As I saw my friend doting over her son, I felt overwhelmed by gratitude. How very precious each and every moment is. And how sad it is that we don’t always realize it. And I felt blessed, that today I was allowed to feel it. That I saw her son taste his first grapefruit juice and wince it away but coming back to it out of sheer curiosity. I felt blessed to have been deemed “tickle monster” by the said boy and to have spent most of the time hearing his laughter in my arms as he squirmed under my tickling hands. I felt blessed to have seen him running towards the puddles and jumping in them, again, and again, and again. As you do when you don’t have a single worry in the world and your whole life quietly waiting to happen.

What prevents us adults to jump in puddles? After all, life should come with a constant jump in puddles feeling. And sometimes all we need is a little boy as a reminder that in fact, life is exactly that: a jump in puddles, if we only care to notice.

 

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Berlin roofs © Emmanuelle Chaze, May 2017
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