Four familiarizes itself with me in these days, in the forty tiny toes that tip on top of the floors in our home, in the clothes outgrown overnight, in the cacophony of meals, laundry, lessons, love, and life.
The shadows of four twirl and climb and fall and soar before us, teetering alongside as we discover and define family, priorities, place.
We lose ourselves to the normalcy of days that evaporate, reaching to grasp with fingers that slip to time, days over just-like-that. For us, four is a blurry kind of beautiful in our full, frenzied hearts.
But as I watch this family unfolding in front of my lens, I pause and smile from my angle, holding my breath as I take in the fluttering, talented cast of their beautiful show. Long, loving arms reach and quiet and embrace little bodies that scuttle among the joy,
patience persevering, love ubiquitous.
I am moved to gratitude for my own as I muse at the beauty of their numbers, capturing one, and two, and three, and four. And I think of how what the ladies who stop us in stores and on sidewalks have said, is true: the symphony of somersaults, untouched meals, song, tears, and laughter, it does not shake their core as it does ours. They are not knee deep, in the midst, but outside, looking on at the spark and great fortune of it all, remembering with deep pride their own, sweet, rambling performance.
And as I still the moments for this family with my camera, I see. I am not hurrying my own out the door. I am not brushing hair. I am not packing lunches. I am not soothing. Or cuddling. Or keeping the peace.
There is no cord between us, and so without distraction,
Alone with my camera in their company,
I see clearly the enormous beauty of four.