Two days ago I was rushing the kids to school when everything stopped.
It was like all recent memory of hurrying things up – getting them dressed in their uniforms, helping with their hair, sorting out lunchboxes and their breakfast, breaking fights, calming the offended, and all other matters that accompany each insane weekday of having six-year-old twins – had suddenly been swept aside.
They stood frozen in front of the little gate facing west. Sometimes they would do that when there’s an interesting bug or a spider or some other creature (not chameleons first thing in the morning, far too early for them) clinging to the cold metal latch. But I looked and there was nothing there. So I got a little cross.
“What??!?” I said.
“The moon, daddy!” they both said, then went silent once again.
And there it was. Close to the western horizon. Silence struck me like it had them.
We were a little late getting to school. But it was fine. It was worth choosing wonder and awe over a few lost minutes.
It was good we didn’t manage to take a picture of that moment. Yesterday I was ready with the camera, but it didn’t feel the same though it was of the same moon and taken at about the same time.
That photo does not capture anything really. The size of the moon, the layers of colours that we had seen are not here.
Some things are better kept in one’s memory.