A Perfect Moment in Red

I am watching a movie where everyone is going to die, and a character puts on her best dress and her treasured jewelry and then kills herself before the disaster can reach her.

I wonder how often she wore the special clothes and what a shame it would be if she hardly ever wore them until the very end.

I compare it to the practice of remodeling your house right before you sell it so the nicest house you’ve ever had is the one you’re not going to live in.

I turn off the movie and go put on a red dress I never wear and pretty jewelry I never wear.

Later that afternoon, I feed the pigs in my red dress. What does it matter if it gets messed up if I never wear it anyway? I love it, so maybe I should wear it every day until it falls off instead of saving it for never.

I show Dylan how to blow the seeds off the tops of dandelions.

We lie down in our big front yard, him naked, me in my pretty red dress and we gather dandelions and watch the tops blow off from the wind and our breath.

My necklace is a big locket so we tuck dandelion heads into the locket, but the cover is an intricate lacy pattern, and by the time we open the locket again all the seeds have already blown out through a magic trick of silver and wind.

I think to myself that this is a perfect moment, a delighted child learning the process of love and life snuggled between some grateful dandelions and me, a splash of red and happiness.

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