A Girl Named Leney

THE JOURNAL

A Passing Scene

he was towheaded, face abloom with freckles that i could see even through my windshield as i pulled onto the street. he was crawling up out of the ditch to the head of a little miniature play car he was driving around the yard.

he couldn't have been more than five. 

as he turned towards the sound of my car, eyes alert and inquisitive, he waved. 
rotating his open palm from the wrist, fingers straight and insistent in their communicated greeting. the learned and carefully practiced wave of adolescence. 
the suddenness of his reaction to greet me was more instantaneous than i expected. it was almost as if there was a familiarity in his turning toward me, as if he knew me and had been expecting my arrival.

as soon as i passed him tears welled up in my eyes.
i was shocked by my sudden reaction. i glanced at myself in the rear view mirror almost as if needing to confirm visually what i felt physically.
and i ached.
i ached for the innocence and beauty of a child playing outside happily by himself. 
i ached for wanting a child of my own to bring up in just that way.
i ached for the remembrance and days past of my own childhood that had been spent in a similar fashion
i ached for the trusting and intent gaze that had met mine and how pure and innocent it seemed. untainted, as of yet, by the worlds evils and disappointments and heartaches.  

i have replayed this passing scene over and over and over in my mind.
wondering why it moves me to the depth that it does. 
indeed, i have tears in my eyes even now as i think about that little boys face.
the above reasons are a partial explanation. 
but there is something more that i am unable to put my finger on and which i am coming to realize i do not need to know and understand. 

it is enough, for now, remembering that i hold this kind of ocean within me.