This morning as I happened to watch a happy, 80+ yr. old man walk cautiously up a few house steps to visit a friend, I thought of blowing bubbles.
When the kids were young, one of the simple pleasures they (and I!) enjoyed was blowing soap bubbles from the front porch. A few of the several delights were to see how far a bubble might travel before going “poof” or how high one would go or how big one could be blown. Another event was if the lawn was slightly damp, some of the bubbles managed to land on it without “poofing” creating quite a strange sight.
What I noticed on occasion, when wind conditions were right and the sunlight was just so, was that the wonderful shell of the bubble contained many colors, all sort of flowing around the delicate, wobbly sphere. A few tiny droplets would form inside on the bottom, thinning the shape, silently sounding the ephemeral call of existence.
To me, life is much like those of the bubbles-- and almost as fleeting. Some go “poof” all too soon,,,,,,, leaving such enormous grief to bear,,,,,,, while others, like the man from WWII, stay with us, fading and frail, to offer such comfort and warmth for a few moments longer.
No matter how long our special soap bubbles float in the air, I know we will always appreciate and love them.
