the bubble game

Recently I went over to my friend Allison's and watched her daughter blow bubbles in the sun-dappled yard. The game, of course, is to run into the bubbles head-first to break them. She would express disappointment and then start to whine, then smile when Allison would blow another one for her and then she could do it all over again.  Promptly forgetting the irritation of the previous tragedy of the bubble that went before, she runs like around in the paradox of the bubble game: you can't love the bubble too long, you must rush to break it. 

Her joy/disappointment cycle is dizzying and remarkable. This is everything. Happiness in a flash, then it's gone, only to re-form, in a slightly different shape. Last spring we paid a hefty price to slash some tree branches that were dropping acorns on my roof and inchworms into my morning coffee on the deck; I'm irked at how soon those branches grow, marring the tidy bend of the tree with puffs of green. It's only another five years, I bet, before those branches are humping my roof again, making trouble. 
Until then, I'll enjoy this perfect moment on my deck, right now.  The sky is perfect. The coffee is perfect.

Here we go, chasing down those bubbles to break. The next one will be rise up like the moon, so beautiful.