A Perfect Hour

In a lot of things we do, it is easy to think that parts of it could be better. “If only” whatever it was … was sooner or later, longer or shorter, darker or brighter. If there had been less fog, or warmer water or fewer people or less noise or ….! Yikes. The list is endless, once you start to think about it. But, in the midst of this clatter and clamour, sometimes there are small islands of perfection, of what a poet I once read called the ‘still centre, the heart of rest’. I think it is probably a really good exercise, when the snow lingers or the guest does not arrive when expected, to search in your memory and heart for these times, recall them, even if not in tranquility, and cherish the memory.

For me, one of these loved times was a fall afternoon, here on our land, taking a walk through the woods on a sunny day, a cool but clear afternoon, with my two little girls. There were a lot of leaves down, still at their crisp, curled best, and the girls ran through them, shuffling and rustling and giggling. They would run ahead of me, the sun glinting off their shiny blowing hair, or dart off to the side to investigate something intriguing. Or they would run back to me to share a perfect scarlet leaf or a tattered last summer aster. Sometimes they were together, sometimes off on solo explorations, but always the music of their voices and the grace of their movement informed the perfect hour. Slanted sunbeams picked up the fine dust of the autumn’s leavings as it swirled from their flying feet. I knew as I walked that what was happening was precious, was perfect, I took a photo.

A photograph can only capture one tiny slice of such a day. Even a video, the kind of thing my camera chooses to take from time to time, would not give you scent, the surrounding tall, enduring trees, the  golden leaves on the trail edges. But if I try I can remember all of it, scent, sound, the golden sun’s illumination, the serenity. Even so, a photo helps. The one above may not be of the day I am describing; the girls look a bit older, the sun is not breaking through. But I can edit it in memory. A place in my life to treasure, forever.