But For a Moment
If I could see again, even if but for a moment, I would reach out and grab the vision with my heart, my mind and my soul. I would savor the flavor, like the first ice cream cone of June. I would cherish the feeling that raced through my veins and tingled my fingers and toes. I would remember, and then, I would never forget.
If but for a moment or two I could see the colors of the day, If I could watch the movement of the wind, If I could catch a glimpse of the cardinal as it danced through the maple while singing its morning song, I would run with the emotions, trying to find the words to describe the palette of life that was taking shape right before my very eyes. I would grab the visions quickly and store them away in the safest place I could find. I would replenish my memories of yesterday with the experience of the day, of this day, of any day.
A smile from my son, the shimmer of the sun as it bounced off a field of snow, a rainbow of flavor in a patch of zinnias, the sparkle at the water’s edge, a hint of blue in a cloudy sky, the hands of a clock, whatever I could see, whatever I could gaze upon, whatever I could catch out of the corner of my eye would be heaven, my heaven.
If I could see what I hear, If I could look at what I touch, if I could lay my eyes on the magic that is, I would wipe away the tears of joy and try to catch my breath. All of the faces I have never seen, all of the growing up my grandson has done, all the ways my wife has grown into the beauty of her that I have tucked away in my mind, in its own unique way, it would all seem to come true.
If I could see, again, if only for a brief moment or three, I would inhale deeply the wonder of the gift, and then, the sightless visions I have formed in my mind would be forever complete.