Tuesday, April 21, 2009

I was walking home last night, in the hours which a month ago would have been verging on late but which are now, in the softening spring evenings, only more hours. It was warm enough to not be wearing tights but cool enough that the breeze rustling the bottom hem of my light walking coat buttoned over my dress gave me goosebumps. The air smelled of the last of the daffodils and the first of the lilacs, of lake water and car exhaust and a distant barbecue. My shoes were rubbing blisters on the tops of my toes and I was mulling over a fun scheme, and for a moment I thumped down into the groove of most myself.

That's all, really. But after months of being grumpy and ill-contented and mad at the world, of feeling too small for my skin and too big for all rooms, it was like being on fire and then suddenly doused with cold water. Like coming to the end of a long tunnel and finally taking a breath again, finally finding the space to take a step backwards and say, calm down, silly. Everything has a way of working out, remember?

In my pots green things are starting to poke out their heads, and soon there will be flowers just steps from wherever I am in my house. There is nothing better than right now.

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