The Monsoon of Blue

Lilly and I saw a peacock on our little secret path to school this afternoon.

We were in a hurry, zooming up to get the kids and work at the book fair, snacks piled high in the ripped Ralph's grocery bag, ducking in and out of flowering plants and looming vines and then this thing popped out from under a bush, loped across the grassy path in front of us.

Our stroller was going so haphazardly, and it's a ripped apart thing, ten years old, 3 kids later, like me, almost unstitched yet still working miraculously, so it took us awhile over the heaving to figure out what the loping thing was and then suddenly we both saw it, this huge, long, blue and green bird. Yes, it was a bird, but it was long as a giraffe, and the neck was so brilliantly blue, like a color you just can't make, it has to grow that way, the way iridescent would grow. And then it had these feathers, each one had a million feathery tendrils and a dot all to itself, blue to match the bird's neck. A forest of eyes all folded up and following the bird dutifully.

Lilly and I were both scared, still getting over the shock of something jumping out in our path, and then we both exclaimed, because who would have thought something jumping out would be so beautiful. Nothing has ever jumped out at us, on this path, every day twice a day for six years so far. There are peacocks in the neighborhood, we've seen a ton of peacocks, at a distance, behind a fence maybe. But one right under your feet, a surprise, gentle, and painted like that... I wanted to put it in my pocket. Strap it to the stroller. Maybe I could take it and keep it forever.

We just gazed. The monsoon of blue. Then continued on our rocket ride up the dirt path. We had somewhere to go. And talked about the shock, the surprise, and the color.