The blue skirt

I could see her blue skirt through the shoulders of the people sitting in front of me. I would lose the sight of her, I would get distracted reading, I would start thinking about something else. Then I would gaze with no purpose at the playground and see her blue skirt. And seeing it would make me feel peaceful.

It was mid July and it was hot. Too many things going on around; in the world and in my own life. I was glad we were moving. With all the stress of packing, finding new place to live, working on new projects, with all the good and bad things it entails, I still was glad that we were not staying here. People around looked wealthy and happy. They complained about the freshness of the bread, argued about the price of the meat, and discussed their vacations; they dressed well and talked loud. The waiters patted my children on their heads when they took them inside to chose the ice-creams. I loved the city and the people.

And then I could not remain stale. I felt being a part of the things that happened; people being killed in other countries, poverty, stupidity, and unnecessary acceptance. I knew that my thoughts did not solve anything. But they also made it impossible for me to argue about the freshness of the bread or the latest issue of the women magazine. There were other things close to my heart. There was a future to be built, the kids to be fed and taken care of, projects to be carried through.

I liked that we were moving and that the kids could see people in other parts of the world and have a different perspective on things. Even if this meant leaving their friends and grandparents behind. All the hassle of packing, selling, moving did not feel hard after all.

I was catching the sight of the blue skirt that my daughter wore that day. And this patch of blue made me feel fine.

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