The woman at the food pantry was so frustrated. She didn’t have anything kind to say. She didn’t know me and she still yelled at me.
The happiest moment was still in the snow, the two of us, making snowballs and forgetting the expectations of the world. It’s true there is no sound equal to a toddler’s laughter. It’s a burbling rushing creek crossing through the dream where you are wandering in the desert.
It’s pulling teeth this morning. That’s why I have to do it. Yanking at the meaningful thought. I am becoming a string of disconnected status updates, instead of coherency.
Anyway, I have the tea kettle hot now, and I’m thinking about my family cruising on the Mediterranean for Christmas. I am not wishing I am there, just imagining it instead. I stood on the cliff top in Vernazza and watched the couples sunbathe on the black rocks by the aqua sea in summer. I slept in a tiny cabin en route to Sicily. I can use my mind to conjure warm breezes, even while I gaze at the orange streetlamps shining down on our snow blanket.
I am here.