4 minute read
A SLIVER OF PEACE by Robin Prince Monroe
A Sliver of Peace by Robin Prince Monroe
The summer sun was hot, white, blinding. The kind of sun that leaves light squiggles in the aqueous humor of your eyes. It was so humid I felt like I needed scuba gear to breathe. Occasionally a dandelion fluff of cloud would pass over the sun and for a brief moment I’d anticipate relief only to feel the blaze heat up again.
People were milling everywhere around the field, watching, waiting, eye-protective glasses at the ready. Dark shields to keep them from being hurt by the very thing that they can’t live without. Afraid to be blinded by the very thing that enables them to see.
Blankets were scattered across the dry, crisp grass like the bright patches of a quilt. The grass crunched as I walked carrying my soft, red blanket. My small, burlap pack patted my back with each step. I needed to find a secret place away from the people chattering, the kid’s laughing, and the smell of lunches, growing too hot in the sun. A hidden place that was open enough to see the sky.
I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find the right place to experience this once-in-a-lifetime event, until I noticed a large oak at the edge of the field. It stood there ready to greet me. I ran over, threw my blanket in its shadow, then reached up to climb into its arms. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a spot high enough that I could see a big swatch of sky.
I climbed hand-foot-hand, higher and higher, the warm, rough bark kept my sweaty palms from slipping. The leaves brushed my skin soothing the anxiety that we all felt. Anxiety? Somewhere deep inside of me, was the primordial feeling that light meant safety. And that without it, even for only a few moments, I was somehow vulnerable.
Do the other’s feel this? Do the children? Does this tree?
Finally, I found it, open sky above a branch large enough to hold my weight. I braced my right foot on a sturdy branch below. I dangled the other foot, and had a flash of how much I had loved climbing when I was a child.
Do kids do that anymore? I hoped so.
Secure then, I gently pulled my backpack off, and opened it, looking for the certified, dark glasses I had put there. I had packed two pair. I put one on, then to test it, I looked up at the spotlight sun. When I looked back down to find my power bar, the backpack was a dark abyss. I had to remove the glasses to retrieve my snack. I munched on the bar and checked my watch. I had made it just in time. In a few more minutes it would start. The anxiety changed to excitement, the kind that makes a minute seem like forever.
Then it happened. The moon’s shadow took a tiny nip out of the sun. A baby nip, like the ones I would sneak when Grandma made her best chocolate cookies. The nip slowly turned into a bite, then the bite changed into a soft gray blanket that was pulled slowly over the sun’s bright face. Everything went still. The wind stopped, the birds quieted, even the bug’s high pitched hum hushed. The bright, busy light became a silky twilight, then a silent night.
And with the grayness came the whispered hush I so desperately needed. A few quiet moments without artificial lights, and graphics screaming at me on too many screens.
When the shadow was at its deepest, the people cheered, but the quietness owned me now.
Then the moon stopped hugging the sun, and slowly slipped away. The wind, the birds, and the bugs, started up their busy life songs. I climbed down onto the field of chattering people, giggling children, and smelly lunches, to go back to my life, carrying with me the soft peace I had found.
