Colder than it should be on a late June morning. Things to do are planned and halted by the sharp, cool beauty of the day. Stop and watch: The blues are bluer and white clouds billow out in brightness in the sun. Red flashing fireworks are merely cardinals; the yellow blips are goldfinch and the sparrow is no longer plain and dowdy. Flowers look unreal in their reality of colors, unattainable by any artist’s palette, and even so, not to be believed.
The moment doesn’t last long beyond the dewy freshness of the day, or else our eyes adjust to make it all just normal; stealing from reality to make a memory that fits comfortably among the thousand other mornings stored. Losing something in the seeing, losing more when seeing’s done.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology