They fished together from bank of the farm pond dam. Above, sky shone free and blue with wisps that seemed celestial mirage as air filled with birdsong notes enlivened in the glory of the sun. Between Emma and Ryan, there held a quiet peace.
Beneath her feet, it seemed the brome cover of the bank was changed, waking and rising in fresh flechettes through winter’s flaxen matte. Beside them, winter stripped willow shone, heart of its inner sanctuary bared as it began to dress, again, in gown of guarding, living green; but in the early spring, its heart stayed open; and each sensed stirring, in its openness, staring into memory and refuge of sudden summer storm.
In each’s smile bore a warmth that rose with freshness like the brome on bank, and casting into the water, crappie struck, drawn to the shallows for season of creation, when beds were made, rituals of wooing lived, and further life was given chance in performance of embedded act in accord to God’s willed design.
Design and will, so simple—natural—in amazement, it lives unconsidered until experience when one comes face to face, child by child, with their own role, duty, and place in the cosmic act of Creation.
Catching, black and silver sides flashing in light when drawn from a depth, each unhooked and returned the fish to their beds and lover’s hope.
In the early spring sun, Emma emanated in glow unique and only present in new mother’s becoming: a spirit of spring and world renewal beholden in bearing of living miracle.
So common, so simple—natural—that its wonder passes with such little consideration until stricken in awe at splendor of oneness with like-spring world around.
As such, Ryan was affected.
“The dream became…” he thought and wished to speak, but never managed to say—stricken—in clarity of splendor.