I wish I’d cut out the picture but I know from experience that I’d probably file it somewhere and never find it again. The picture in the paper on Easter was of a little boy about four years old.
The boy was hunting Easter eggs on the lawn. He was crouching, facing the camera. The egg was in the grass to his left. He wasn’t looking directly at it, as though he might not want to tip his intentions just yet. But his arm was extending and his open hand hovered bare inches from his prize. His eyes were sly with anticipation. His lips registered something between smug and giggle.
I thought, I’d give a lot to feel — even for a fleeting second — what that little kid was feeling, to experience once more the triumph of laying claim to a treasure that no one else has seen.
And then I thought, but I do have that feeling. I have it all the time. That little boy might as well have been sneaking up on an idea, and perhaps one day he will. Maybe I just saw into a child’s future. That’s such a good idea that I’m going to find a mirror right now to see how my lips look.