Flying Together

Yesterday.
I was laid out, feeling pretty low, and forced the boys to play outside.  It was a beautiful autumn day, crisp and clear, our little yard full of golden, crunchy leaves.  Andrès came in early and was playing at the schoolroom table, and Raphael stayed outside, playing with his imaginary friends.  He poked his head in several times, sharing little bits of his world with me as I sat unmoving and aching in my chair.

I had a migraine that I had been fighting for a couple days, and it was painful to talk, let alone blink.

"Momma," he said on one occasion, "do you see all the leaves?  There are so many leaves, leaves all over the ground."

"I did, they're so beautiful, aren't they?"  It was hard to talk.  Painful to keep my eyes open.  I had a small, razor sharp migraine that I had been fighting all day, and just blinking was enough.  Turning my head required effort.

Another time:

"Momma, I think there's a eagle in the tree.  Do you hear it?"

He left the sliding door open ajar for me to hear, and sure enough there came a shrill cry from a nearby branch just outside.  I couldn't look, but I doubted it was an eagle.

"It's probably a hawk," I muttered.  I hated feeling so helpless.  I wished I could leap up and play with him in the leaves and sunshine and cool, October breeze.  

"I wish I was bird, Momma," he said, looking up into the tree outside with his big brown eyes full of wonder and wishful fantasy.  "And I wish you were a bird, too, then we could fly together."

"Yes, sweetheart," I replied.  "We would fly together."

And just like that, the wishes of my 6 year old son lifted me out of my body and suddenly he and I rose on a breeze, feathered and light in the golden October sunshine, riding through clouds.