The Bubbles of Eagle Rock
Sometimes, life takes you by surprise. You’re driving along a sunny Los Angeles street one afternoon, kind of spacing out, just enjoying the light bleeding over the horizon as the sun makes its way southward again. The radio may be on or off, it doesn’t really matter. Your fingers may be tapping the wheel a little, as you coast to a stop at the light.
And then you see the bubbles, luminescent in the afternoon sun, a multitude of colors undulating back and forth as they make their way across the street. You see the kids then, doubled over with laughter, blowing as fast as they can until the entire street is filled with bubbles. You see them drifting across one lane then two and three until they’ve covered the cars in both directions.
And the kids keep laughing, and people are actually making eye contact now, smiling at each other in their cars, at the kids giggling and blowing bubbles for their lives on their way home from school. There are so many of them, you can’t quite believe it. All those fragile bubbles, managing to stay together at once, almost like a squadron of little colored balloons.
The kids have no idea what they’ve just done. They’re just trying to have a little fun between the boringness of here and the relief of there. Maybe you imagine that it’s the last day of school, and they’re looking forward to a summer of not much at all.
But they crack our hearts open a little, and widen our surprise at the way life has a way of making us laugh and wonder and know there’s some force up there pointing out our innate connection, just so we don’t miss it.
