the most beautiful thing: dirty furniture
The most beautiful thing I saw today was that little one toddling down the steps like a little weeble, one hand on the wall for balance, the other clutching a little flower pot to his side. He was one of four, but the littlest and his bright bright brown eyes gleemed with excitement for his little “lellow” flower.
They came one by one through my open door as I finished potting the rest of this weekend’s flowers in pots on my balcony. First cat eyes, curious and looking all around; it was her first visit. She helped with the petunias and the pansies, and then I potted her a little white geranium still waiting for its first flower. Soon, her curly-headed brother found his way up and running across the white rugs with his dirty bare feet. I took a deep breath and just let the dirt fall where it may on the carpets and jumping up with him onto the beige chaise. I decided right then that their sweet, effortless joy was far more important than keeping anything at all clean.
And good thing, because moments later the next toddler appeared with her mother in tow, and then her older brother. Everyone piles around me on the chez where I was perched to lean over the open sliding glass door to keep as much potting soil out of the living room as possible. They were in love.
They were in love with the flowers. I could see it, their eyes so sparkly. And oh did they ever love the “lellow” ones! So, as the father of the last two took a seat across the room to supervise the children, or maybe me, quietly, I realized that the ones in the little pots were leaving with the ones with the little hands. One by one, we picked out our proud little living treasures, named them, and filed out of the apartment to let the flowers all have a play date together outside.
And as I stood at the top of the stairs watching the one hand on the wall, one hand clutching the flower, I breathed a deep breath again. I don’t really know these children well yet. But in my heart of hearts I know they know me and their trusting, sweet, ever-loving smiles were enough to make me nearly cry out for them to all stay, forever. As the last of the little ones left in her father’s arms saying over and over again, “lah lah” the name of her little pink mini petunia, her angelic smile filled me with the knowing that they would, they would be here forever in the laughter all around the building, in the summer wind, and in my little balcony flower garden.
Image by Barefoot Soul.