i’m coming into one of those seasons in life, i think, when things feel in line. the days dance to the same song; every choice is a shimmer off some core truth that i know to be mine. 

i still work too much sometimes, and don’t find time to breathe, to see, to be. but when i do, it is clear – there is something good going on here.

 

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read this at night

nothing was different today except for the weather… and apparently, that makes all the difference. the evening air seems softer, kinder – and tonight, i am too.

there is always that first of the season when i am reminded of the way sounds travel on a warm night: cars peeling down the highway, a dog’s bark. they skid and tumble across the miles to come through my open window, making the city i live in hover closer in my ears – but soft, still distant. i love it.

i would say nights like this remind me of this song, but really it’s the other way around.



the first time i heard it, i was far away from here, at a different end of the country. this song will always be bound up in that time, but it is also tonight.

tonight i hope you are safe.  i hope you are happy.  i hope that the windows are open and the fresh air comes in through the screen like a sigh.

like fresh

today, i started over, without even trying. i had a magnificent donut for breakfast: soft and pillowy, with just the thinnest of crackled sugar glazes. i talked to my oldest friend, and we made all sorts of devious plans for the summer. i found a new cookie recipe to jump up and down about. and the work day came and went without beating me up entirely, so that i drove off in the golden light that i am loving more and more these days, passing under the newly purpled jacarandas trees that line the streets of my favorite neighborhood, feeling mostly just goodness and gratitude.

hope is a funny thing: fickle, elusive. but boy, when you have it, everything changes. it pulls together that jumble of everyday obligations and broken desires and gives it a melody, a beat.

i have no idea how mine breezed back in (well, maybe just a few vague ideas), but i am going to ride this for as long as it lasts.

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bits of green

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i have a thing for this fig tree. when i signed the lease for this little apartment (my first, my only), it was not there. there was nothing but a square of cracked dirt that lay outside the living room window. but by the time i moved in, there it was. a good, kind neighbor had planted it with hopes of seeing a garden come to life, inner city smog and grit be darned. since then, it has grown to be quite a handsome specimen, and i like to watch it as the seasons grace its limbs with change.

summer is grand, of course, when the branches are ruffled with the broad, green leaves and the ripe fruit hangs heavy and deep purple. but the time – mere moments, it seems – before spring fully sweeps in… it’s something else. the slender, knobbled branches remain bare as can be, except for the cutest bits of green that miraculously crack their way out of the dry bark. in each baby leaf i can see its full-size future, and it’s thrilling in the simplest of ways.

as i prepare for a few changes of my own, i like knowing that this tree stands stately outside, quiet in its cycle of growth and steady just the same.