Looking into the sun

Our science teachers told us not to do it. But a hundred of us gather, again, and wait, quietly talking, laughing, watching. God is the timekeeper, as always, and the moments pass steadily, slowly.



A little barefoot girl, perhaps four years old, wanders back and forth to the water's edge, across fist-sized stones worn smooth by wind and water. 50 years from now her feet will remember the feel of smooth rocks and wood chips under the blazing red sky reflected in the quiet water.



Serene, intense, brief...



As the sky slowly darkens, the breeze falls off. The flag hangs limp as a gull flies away.



A small pair of pink crocs left under the bench where her parents sit. How much will she remember? How deeply will this sink into her inner being? 50 years later, and then what?