The Hum

There is a silent hum of cars on the highway in the distance. It takes me back into those moments when I was just a little girl. Curled up in the sleeping bag with the finicky zipper and the deer jumping on the red fleece on the inside. When I would bury my head inside and just a head covered in curls would be visible. The roar of a semi would pass on the highway just on the other side of the yard and the road and the garden. And the paneling on the wall would glow with the ethereal light of the porch. I would raise up my arm and trace the lines in the air. And I would look across the room to where hung the painting of a mother comforting her small child, held in her arms, loving. And now I’m no longer a little girl; I may have put away childish things but I still look for those moments. But most times I forget to see. We remember seeing but we forget to look. You have to see the well to drink of it. But to see, some times you have to close your eyes. Because when you close your eyes, it forces you to believe.