As I sat waiting for what I thought would be a life changing scene, I saw another— more subtle, but equally stirring. Shadows lightened, darkened, and shifted on the ridges of bark on a towering tree. Branches rustled in the faint wind, whispering, “shhhhh shhhhh”. Orange butterflies soared as white ones fluttered, while tiny birds hopped on a picnic table. A sudden rush of wind brought a cascade of falling leaves that made a crackling sound like burning firewood as they scattered across the stone tiles before me. A mother walked her toddler across a bridge, smiling down at the tiny arms and legs straddled between her own.
Minutes passed and people began to gather in the lawn near where I was sitting. In the corner, an East Asian family held their glasses up at the sky and marveled at the sight they saw. Nearby, a black father smiled at his young son who gazed at the sun through special glasses with his mouth agape. Beside them, a white mother and her daughter lent them another pair of glasses, so the father and son could look up at the sky together. They all laughed when the little boy exclaimed that he wanted to fly to the sun one day, when he was older.
And then they smiled at me.
Many people came together on a cerulean afternoon, and their hearts beat as one. I felt that we are all the same.
Because we are.
And this is how we should always be.