Drying Golden Hair

I was drying golden locks of spun cornsilk this morning.  At least that’s what my daughter’s hair looks and feels like.  There is an exquisite detail that love brings.  Like how the shape of her head looks from the back, the way her blouse doesn’t quite tuck in right, the roundness of her cheeks, like mine, the sound of the dryer, methodical in it’s sound, as I pull the brush through.

There are golden moments some mornings, when handling golden hair.

There are golden moments unexpectedly, like when I looked at the city sign on the way back from dropping her off at school.  The sun had risen casting a warm glow on the open sky behind, pink like lemonade and powder blue.  It reminded me of New Orleans.  I was reminded how I felt there, open like a big sky.  I was reminded of Ault park on a summer day, with humidity hugging me, and the sounds of creaking swings, and squealing children, and my naked toes in naked green grass reading a book.

And I thought…

How do we hold these moments longer?  Is it possible to live here, in these magic moments more?  Is that the gift of love?  Allowing this absolute focus on the present moment, the detail, the beauty?  It makes me want to cry some days, and I do, not because I’m sad, but because life…life is so beautiful.

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