A Scene From My Front Windshield

 

Yesterday, I witnessed a scene from my front windshield.

  

It was an ordinary, and completely extraordinary, scene. 

It involved two little girls.  

One was wearing a loud zebra print jacket, the only pair of jeans left that still fit her, and her pink converse shoes that come untied every 9 minutes.  The other was in a hand-me-down coat, skinny jeans that only she could pull off, and twin pigtails in her newly boyish hair.

  It was the last few minutes of preschool and a rare treat for them both to be outside playing at the same time.  (And an even rarer treat for me to be there early enough to witness it.)

They ran up and down the grassy hill side-by-side.  They laughed and screamed.  They threw a ball to each other.  It dropped.  They dug in the sand together.  They went back to running.  And as they were running, their feet got tied up in each other and they both went tumbling down hard.  Immediately, they were at eachother's side examining injuries and checking for wounds.  And then they were up and off to the next adventure.  

Oblivious of anyone but themselves. 

After a few minutes, Aubrey's teacher called for all the younger kids to line up.  Aubrey headed over to her class, got half-way there, turned around and bolted back to Brooklyn.  They embraced each other in the sweetest hug and then gave each other a quick kiss, and then again, she was off.  

And I found myself sitting alone in my car wondering if there were two sisters in the world that love each other more than these two. 

And I decided that there could not possibly be.

When we got home, they got out of the car and headed inside together.  Brooklyn put her arm around Aubrey and said in a quiet voice that I almost couldn't hear, 

"The best thing is to be sisters." 

Agreed.