I just had one of those experiences that makes you want to crack right down the middle because you are so full of goodness you can't contain it anymore. It's been a happy day, full of good people. After dinner I fed the baby ice cream while the girls went out on the porch swing to eat theirs in little flowered bowls. Martin drifted off to the piano in the hallway and began to play. Beatrix, stripped down to her diaper, swayed in time as she ate her ice cream, babbling companionably. Then she climbed down from her chair and began running up and down the hallway. The sun coming in the front door formed a column of shining light that stretched down the hallway. As Martin played she ran back and forth, her body aglow, her fat, turning legs silhouetted as they moved. When I looked away, I found my eyes were blinded with the light, and the sunspots were dark in my sight.
And I thought: Is this what happens to the magic? It masses inside us, it blinds our eyes, it leaves its marks on our soul, so when we look away into the darkness our sight is changed forever. So that when I am very old and the clarity of my happinesses are but impressions, like shadows left by a bright sun, someone will say, "There is evidence that this life was filled with great joy."
