Sometimes children move as one - Alma Peek

Barefoot all summer, the three of them.
Most of the time, all kinds of chatting happening.
Focused silence now.

Then, the boy carries the prized, just-now-completed 
Lego light-up gyroscope to the closet beneath the stairs.

The girls drop their card game
and follow.

Close the door, shut off the light, and
light orbs swish across boxes of detergent.
Ordinary day, rainbow colors in my eyes.

Together we stand, single file,
tracking the dancing lights.
I point my gaze after theirs,
remembering the first time I saw an orca.

Sometimes children move as one, like dolphins or birds.