bubbles

While at my grandparents this past weekend with my cousins, one of my favorite things we did was blowing bubbles. After dinner, we would simply walk out in the front yard by the lake and blow as many of these delicate spheres as we could.

There's something magical about bubbles. Their many colors, reflections of the trees, the way they float so timidly. They seem so unaware of everything, or simply above the distractions.

The funny thing about bubbles is that despite their beauty, there is no sadness when they pop, at least for me. I watch them as they float and fly on the wind, and when they hit a branch or a blade of grass, I am simply happy that I was able to watch it dance for the time I could.

I thought about how the precious moments of this life are like bubbles. They're beautiful and we cherish and enjoy them while they last. But after a while, they will pop.

Sometimes, endings can be hard to handle, or at least very sad. I think that happens when we lose perspective on what these times are. Each one is worth treasuring while it lasts, we should admire their beauty every second we can. And when it pops, focus not on the empty sky, but remember the joy it brought in its time.

Remember that each bubble experience is a gift. And remember what happens when the bubble has popped.

You blow more bubbles.