Dancing Trees

This is what happens when you try to scan pretty but wrinkled wrapping paper. This particular wrapping paper was lovingly placed around a present for Husband which was sent from his mother in Great Britain. Just like his youngest son, Husband can't wait, so even though his birthday is not until this Saturday, he opened the package the day it came in the mail. Husband also insists on eating dessert first at a resaurant. And why not? Why not enjoy things as they come? Anticipation has its place, too, of course, and it's not like Husband can't wait for important things, but why not just revel in the joy of eating creme brulee before your prime rib or opening your gift before your birthday?

A few weeks ago, Little Gary was in my room looking out the window. I glanced over to find him leaning against the sill, one foot resting on the other, his arms crossed on the bottom ledge. Kneeling beside him, I asked, "What are you looking at?" He pointed.
"The trees are dancing."
Like a textbook, I saw in my mind's eye diagrams of moving air, explanations of high and low pressure systems.
"Is the wind blowing the trees?"
He turned to me then, his eyes solemn as only a toddler's eyes can be.
"No, Mommy. The trees are dancing."

I have loved that since he first told me. That he saw the branches move and twist and decided that the trees must be dancing is a pearl of a thought. Now, of course, I only see dancing trees who happen to be dancing when there is also a breeze.

I hope I always see dancing trees.