I’m at the Frye, waitig in the cold sun for J.
He’s stuck in traffic.
I don’t mind the wait. It’s lovely to let the sun caress my cheek. (A cheek that has known many tears lately.)
The floating musical island is playing behind me. The water of the fountains flows, adding it’s own notes to the symphony.
A little girl dressed in pink comes down the ramp with her grandfather, picks up a leaf and carries it over to the fountain. She climbs the stairs, nearly half her height then dips the leaf in the water and says, “Wet!” At one point she puts her hand down on the ledge where the water flows, looks down and says, “Oh!” with surprise. Then she puts her hand down again. (I smile because that’s exactly what I would do.)
She puts the leaf back in the water again and again.
Her grandfather watches her. (I love that he doesn’t stop her.)
Church bells ring.
The floating musical island repeats its song.
The water flows.
If you want to know what a musical floating island is, here: