It seemed amazing how beautiful the girl child was at some thirty inches high or so. Dressed by her mommy like a little ballerina in black tights with a tiny tutu of white tulle. She had all the energy of a firecracker as she smacked past underfoot to and fro in an abandon that only a child of two plus years could comprehend. Immune it seemed to impact with older stiffer adult limbs that one might have supposed would have caused her more harm than the opposite way around. This little cannon shot was reminiscent of so many other little charmers now long past their final debut with the grave. Something to make one retreat to the old photo scrap books and note yellowing photos afford by ancient hands as a family legacy providing the rarity of view of the fact that life renewed itself in nearly the same way time and again. The frivolous cavorting of childhood turning for some into a more studied and serious gavotte of later life. That latter time of life when an inadvertent impact can only be explained as a cool and calculating mishap without he intention of leading somewhere according to an unspecified desire. That dance that all little girls desire deep within for the perfect someone that notices them and them alone.
One could only lean back much later on and ponder if such collisions of the past might have born fruit had circumstance of travel been of a different trajectory. Life now dwindling like the final transit of a meteorite nearly expended in the clear night sky. A glance so significant of a persistent facial arrangement that no one could explain in youth anymore than one could in it lasting through to those final few minutes. A certain whimsy suggesting the theme that this series of encounters called earthly existence could not hope to provide a competent explanation for. As if all were born into the world hard wired to a purpose in mind. And it was their unstated goal in life to ginned a key to that box to unlock its secret meaning. Something ever-present and immediately discernible to any other to the point of taken for granted in the equation by any other. But hidden in plain view in the lifelong observation in a reelecting glass impishly hiding it by posing it reversed left to right. Never able throughout life to ever glimpse one’s self from that impossible viewpoint. To look from behind one’s self while facing forward. Only the mad invention of the still image providing the shock of this otherwise unseeable phenomena.
How god-like these tall creatures that offer only their knees to a view barely past early eye level? They lean down to find one eye to eye and a ninety degree oblique. The instantaneous fiction of a propriety suggesting the competence of adulthood poorly plastered the scant remnants of their own lingering childish curiosities or indifference to the same. How hard to find one actually remaining in currency within the mind of a two-year old now nearly three. Whatever they postulate in that mercurial second about life in the treetops is lost in the minds of those far above who must seek it out in their own dry crusty gray matter. After all, yours is just another ‘noggin’ forever lost in the clouds. It is not anymore intelligible in a recognizable specific word or collection of same than is a happenstance of a momentary encounter within a wilderness with something wild and free of society. Something beyond irony that this sort of attainment of perfection should occur at the beginning of life and be fully dismissed by the time of its approaching end? The two bookends of apparent infancy one before and the other inevitably after.