Ripple

I want to take you to a place where the sun creeps over a horizon of silver birch trees and reflects off of the water’s surface like a handful of mislaid golden coins. The plank-board dock extends past the shoreline just out enough to make diving safe and have a place to tether the boats, but not so far that it disturbs the sleeping schools of the metallic-bellied fish.
The sky is as blue as your grandmother’s eyes when she wears that white silk blouse. You know the one that has the floppy bow tie in the front of it. She loves to wear that blouse when she has somewhere nice to go, maybe to bridge club.
Stubborn little patches of green grass burst out of the pockets of damp sand and reach for the sky, seduced by the blue. The roots miraculously wind down and around the varied layers of silt and stone.
An echo of a child’s laughter rings through the air, careening off of the slim trunks of the magnificent trees. It carries itself across the water with the wings of an angel. Up to where He can hear it and enjoy the music that fills His loving heart.
There, on the edge of the plank-board dock, sits the child in cut-off denims and a light loose fitting shirt. She sits quietly, her feet dangling in the cool clear water. Her arms behind her to support her. Her hands are flat against the worn wood, fingers curled up ever so slightly. She begs the sun to wash over her precious face, and it does. It does so gladly. With one foot, she kicks the golden coins that lay on the water and each drop causes a ripple as it lands, safely, back into itself.
I want you here with me, in this place, because of the beauty that it creates and inspires. This is much the same as the beauty that you create and inspire. The sense of beauty that is incorruptible and – some days – unfathomable, but it is something that I will always be grateful for.

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