the sound of birds, chirping

i am ambling my way through the day, killing time on my way to meet my friend of over forty-two years; people-watching, waiting contentedly in lines, thinking about nothing in particular and simply enjoying each moment.

walking into a boutique mostly for inspiration, i notice one of the saleswomen has a gorgeous and intricate henna tattoo on her hand.

i admire it out loud and ask her about it.  turns out, she is from Palestine and her eyes fill up with tears.

"you know what's going on over there, yes? i can't talk about it without crying."

"what's one of your happiest memories of your homeland and culture?" i ask, "if you'd like to share, of course."

she knows immediately and grins broadly.  "as a young girl i would walk in the mountains, my grandmother with fruit in a basket on her head, her rosy cheeks...the olives and fresh olive oil and the mill at harvest time.  my daughter, she also lives here in the states and is growing an olive tree, you know."

she asks my name and tells me hers.  first, just her nickname, "the easy one to pronounce" and shrugs.

"what's your full given name?"

she tells me, spells it, and then adds, "it means the sound of birds chirping".

we visit some more and tells me, "i am a professor, just not teaching this semester".

"i would love to take one of your classes".

she holds her hand in the air as if for a high-five.  i match it with mine and instead she gently interlocks fingers for a quick moment and says, "you have made my day.  absolutely made my day."

"and you have made mine," i say, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing the point of connection.

"thank you, thank you." she says and adds, "did you find what you came in for today?"

"oh yes, and so much more.  there's nothing i need.  i think it was for our sharing of story that i came in today.  thank you."

not only is the clerk i was speaking with a professor, but has traveled internationally, consulting with some of the biggest organizations in the world.  that doesn't matter, per se, it just goes to show how far a simple tattoo, a question, some open-ended time or some sincere mutual presence can go.

she didn't have to tell me her story.  i didn't have to ask.  it could have gone differently. but that's the way it went and was such an honor for me to witness.

i wondered, just how powerful is shared memory for healing?

and, if grief is the form love takes, why would we ever want to get over anything we lose?

all i know is for one moment in time we are two very different women from completely diverse backgrounds in the time of a world pock-marked by war and destruction standing in the sunshine together next to a grandmother with rosy cheeks carrying a basket of fruit.

and the birds are chirping.