Bubbles have been a big part of our life for several years now. It still amazes me how they are so entertaining and fun each time we get them out, which is often. We’ve had bubble wands, battery operated bubble makers, handheld bubble makers. It’s always a messy, squealing, fun time.
I often hear the words, “don’t pop my bubble!” It’s a big offense to pop another’s claimed bubble around here, they want to pop their own bubble. Once we used little water guns to pop them, that was a fun day.
Today we pulled out the red bubble bin and headed outside. It’s been so hot lately, but today a cool breeze carried the large, fragile balls of soap straight up to the clouds. It was nice and it made me think how similar these bubbles are to my current messy thoughts.
It was hard for me to start writing. Actually no, I love writing my thoughts, the hard part is sharing. It makes me uncomfortable. I want to keep them in my bubble so no one else can burst it open and see inside. Letting these words go free is like blowing into that wand and watching little pieces of my heart scatter.
Some bubbles burst right away, I hear a squeal and know it brought a smile and a small glimpse of joy. Some just float along never to be seen again. Those are the hardest ones. Not knowing where they end up, or if they brightened anyone’s day along the way. Not knowing if someone saw them float by but just didn’t notice or care. Not knowing if they burst and disappeared forever, never to be seen. Those are the ones making me want to screw the lid on tight so nothing spills out and run back inside.
Maybe one day someone will find one of my bubbles, hold it carefully in their hand and discover its beauty. Maybe they’ll even want to show it off. Until then, I’ll just get out my red bubble bin, watch the kids enjoy this simple, carefree time and smile.
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