Walking through the snow...
TJ lowers his head and bends down to shove a handful of snow into his thin little fingers.
”I know where the snow comes from, you know,” he turns and confides to me.
”You do?” I ask, trying to stifle a grin.
”Yeah,” he replies, his brown eyes warm and trusting. ”Snowflakes are pieces of the moon,
falling down from the sky. See how some of the pieces shine, just like the moon?”
I’m charmed by the sheer beauty. “Snowflakes are pieces of moonfall.”
How did this kid, this kid who’s usually so solid and logical about everything, come up with a story like that? It makes me grin, but more than that, it makes me love him even more, catching this glimpse of the lovely, poetic soul that lives inside his small frame. Every now and then I’m offered a sneak peek, hiding behind his shy smile, like a child hidden in a secret space, playing hide and seek.
“Pieces of moonfall.” I love it. Makes me want to go outside and grab a handful of snow for my freezer.
I can take it out and remember this moonfall. I can sift it through my fingers, feel its cool touch. I can look up at the sky, and imagine nighttime, and remember the special glow of the moonbeams on a cold snowy night in March.
And my boy. And his theories.
March 17, 2004...for the Mom project, which I've named "Project Moonfall"