I was in fourth grade and standing on the playground at Clermont Elementary, waiting in line to get on the school bus which was emitting its usual and absolutely singular smell of vinyl seats and pencil shavings and old vomit, when Laura Ann Worsley, who was in second grade and lived three streets over from me, whacked me on the arm with her purse and let out a whoop of joy. The whack was a full-out whack and the purse was made out of some kind of green shiny plastic and it hurt to get hit with it.

“What?” I said.

“Look up there!” she shouted. “Look at that!”

I looked up and I saw blue sky, nothing else.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Right there.” She pointed. “Silly,” she said. She gave me another, more genteel whack with the green purse; and I saw a little pinprick of light in the blue: an airplane, flying very high, one of its wings catching and reflecting the late afternoon sun.

“Are you talking about that airplane?” I said.

“Yes,” said Laura Ann in a dreamy voice. “The airplane.”

“Well, good grief, Laura Ann,” I said. “So what? Airplanes are everywhere.”

“But I saw this one,” said Laura Ann. She put her hand on my arm. “And I wanted to show it to you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I was entirely unmoved.

Airplanes were flying over our heads all the time, every minute of every day; it would, I thought, be a good idea for Laura Ann to get used to it.

This morning, I was walking around the lake and I happened to look up and see a bald eagle floating above me, all insolence and grace. And just when I thought I couldn’t bear the beauty of that bird, another one showed up and both of them hung suspended there, the sun catching on the white of their throats, lighting them up. I stood and looked and looked at them, amazed; and then I lowered my head and looked around. I thought about Laura Ann, because what I wanted to do was whack somebody on the arm with a shiny, green purse. I wanted to tell someone. I wanted somebody to marvel with me. Fortunately, a couple of people came walking by and they had seen the eagles, too; and so we stood there, the three of us and held very still and looked up as the birds wheeled overhead.

One eagle is a gift; two eagles are an even bigger one.

But standing there and looking up and marveling with other people, that is a blessing, grace.

Mysteries. Everywhere. I have decided that it is better, after all, not to get used to them.