As I stood at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables and cursing the heat of early summer, I heard the rushed stomping of little feet up the landing stairs outside. The door flew open and banged into the wall behind it. I looked over toward the doorway, to eyes full of amazement. “Mama, mama look!!!” and she threw her hands into the air. Floating softly in the hot air of the kitchen were cottonwood seeds. The fluffy white, nearly transparent seeds bobbed up and down as she huffed and puffed eagerly at them.
“Huuuu, fuuuu” she noisily breathed. “Huuuu, fuuu” over and over. Her cheeks filling up with air and then all at once deflated while specks of spit, illuminated by the sunlight, went flying toward the dancing seeds.
“It’s snowing!!” She shrieked and danced in circles around the kitchen as white fluff slowly fell to the floor and then swished around her feet.
I laughed at her while she chased them across the floor, trying to grab them. It was as though those little seeds were trying to escape her grasp, fleeing like a kitten or puppy from a menacing child’s reach. She’d reach and miss. Slip on the cool floor tile, and get back up and try again.
I watched her as the onions I had been chopping sat with the knife half through a slice. As water beads slowly rolled off the side of my glass of sweet iced tea and made a ring shaped puddle on the counter. I watched and recalled my own childhood, when in the dusky light of day my brother and I would run through the street of our trailer park neighborhood; arms fully extended, stirring up the cottonwood seeds. We’d weave around each other, laugh and imagine we were planes flying above everyone and everything.
As I came out of my memory and watched my daughter chasing seeds, balling them up in her hand and throwing them over and over into the air, I couldn’t help but smile, because for a fraction of a second, I was no longer just an adult with a lost imagination. I was a kid again, I was giggling innocently and looking at the world through rose colored glasses, and it was indeed, snowing in June.