Morning Moment

I went to Third Space Coffee this morning to write letters and to read. I was back at the counter for a refill, for a second cup. I was behind a woman at the counter, and off to my right her little boy. The toddler was eyeing the food case as fascinated by the glass as the treats. The glass probably cool on his forehead. Then a display caught his eye. By a cooler there was a palette, and on it some stuffed burlap coffee bean sacks. Burlap that always reminds me of bound bales of cotton at my father's mill when I was growing up.

Happily, the boy tottered over, and looked at the sacks, just out of reach. His arms were up, waving a little. His hands awkwardly making grabbing motions in that joyous somewhat spastic way of a child. Then he turned and plopped down on the edge of the palette, smiling, looking about the room. Simply happy. The palette was just tall enough to be a bench for the boy, the palette's floor just a bit lower than the height of his pudgy knees.

He looked in my direction but not at me, waving and saying goodbye to another child across the room leaving with her mommy. I caught his eye, smiled and waved to him. He grinned and giggled, got up and ran to his mommy where he found her leg to hug and buried his face against her. His mommy, still talking to the barista, absentmindedly but gently wrapped an arm about him and squeezed him lovingly.

I wanted to laugh and smile and say something. My mouth works too much. But I stayed silent, because the glittering was some magic hanging about in the air, a kind of moment that I did not wish to disturb or disperse. It's the moments that make the gaps worth it