“Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.”
― Henry James
Chip took the little kids and big dogs for a walk while I tidied up, watered the flowers and called a friend in the hospital. He talked a long time, longer than I expected. Chip was gone a long time too, longer than I expected. Our daughter would be home soon and wonder where Henry and Emilia were, and I ought to know, since we were supposed to be babysitting. I didn’t see or hear them anywhere, so I walked down the path toward Carr’s Cove, where the Chilkat River meets the inlet. Warm wind, blue sky, white clouds, close mountains, fireweed, butter and egg, daisies and roses. Sunshine and the sound of the waves.
I found them just past an old campfire pit where the ground is flat and dry. Chip was asleep. Sound asleep. The dogs chewed on sticks and the kids concentrated on weaving grass and buttercups. No one noticed me, so I watched them, seeing my whole life right there, right here.
Maybe this is what my friend meant when he said the big prize isn’t heaven. It’s being able to live in this world for decades, years, months, today– right now even– for just one more moment– like this. I sat down next to them. Our daughter will find us if she needs to. She knows we can’t be far.
