On the way home from my mom's birthday celebration last Saturday, I decided to take my little one to the park in order to run off some of the butter cream high. The weather was more like a hot, wilting July day rather than the kind of weather that inspires May flowers, so I took him to a local park that I knew had a fountain thinking we might get a little refreshing splash. Well, the fountain was on, but much to our dismay it was not the kind of water that beckoned ones toes to cool off in as it was an unsettling shade of green and filled with flotsam and jetsam.
Luckily, the twin fountains had the appeal of a little bridge that ran between them and my little one could not resist the urge to stand aloft and plop a few stones down into the murky depths, one of his current faves with any available body of water. As we stood atop the bridge, I noticed right away this bright, white thing amidst the algae. It looked like a small broken wing, and it both tugged on my heartstrings and enticed my inner treasure hunter. It was, of course, at the fountains deepest part, and there was no way I was going in that water especially with the giant signs that flanked the pools warning of chemicals and watchful law enforcement.
But I thought about that little wing all weekend. So, yesterday I finally decided to go on a rescue mission, packed my rain boots and my little partner in crime into the car and headed back to the park. The day was a stark contrast to Saturdays visit, gray, cool and even a little misty, and my son was excited to go fetch the wing, remembering the tiny unreachable trinket too. The water was deeper than I had expected, but as luck would have it a gardener was tending the grounds of the park and had a wheel barrel full of tools, of which I immediately thought to borrow a long handled rake or shovel. Truth be told I would have waded in this time, determined and my mind set on something there is little that would stand in my way, and a slimy stroll and a hot shower would have been worth it. Instead, I easily scooped it out with the shovel and upon first glance at the delicate porcelain, wayward wing I knew it was meant to be a talisman, my reminder and good luck charm for the road ahead, one that feels more filled with flight and hope than the need fix something that is broken. But there is a little of that too.
Say what you will. Alex even chuckled a bit at the obvious cliche when I showed it to him and told him the story of my slightly obsessive adventure, one that my two year old enthusiastically backed me up on (so there!), but I 'm smitten and will be carrying the decidedly apropos totem around with me for inspiration. I'm happy to laugh with you at the ridiculousness of me wading into a town fountain to fish out a broken piece of junk, and how absurd that probably seems. I'm totally okay with ridiculousness because, all in all, the whole story just makes me smile.