I saw a little girl yesterday in a pod of three, she the youngest and leading the way, looking for all the world like the famed musician of Hamelin. She wore civvies and a traditional, leather, elementary school backpack (hers, not black, but a deep Persephone-red: a maiden, still.) She carried a light green stalk of a paint-brush ended bit of wild grass picked off the roadside as she made her way home. The encounter happened as we were crossing the river on the big humped bridge. I found she was an angel.
It was her hands that drew my gaze. Softly curling at the wrist, they swam in delicate eddies on the air. At intervals they became more energetic and commanding, gentle but firm. Her companions were deep in conversation and paid her no mind. I, in traffic and at a distance, was spellbound. A red light afforded me a little longer to watch the child. She was lost to the world, enrapt with her orchestra, listening and conducting a melody that her entire body was in touch with.
It occurred to me that there are far better ways to getting ‘carried away’ than I’ve been doing lately, and it brought to mind the magical center of the movie Polar Express reminding me of my need to slow down and tune up.