Fribiljett mot Himlen

They say the snow is coming. They say it will cover the Northeast corridor and we may lose Jersey completely. Somehow, my mind cannot wrap itself around that; all I see is the ice beginning to break along the edges of the river. Perhaps it is Friday afternoon optimism, (perhaps it is Friday afternoon exhaustion), but today I believe in Spring.

I spoke with a friend recently about lazy summer days spent reading in a hammock. Although, technically, neither one of us had actually owned one in our youth, the hammock came to represent the very essence of summer (and of our love for books). And as we reminisced, I could start to feel the lush, green grass between my toes, soft summer breezes rustling the trees and neverending sunlight trickling down through them. I remembered what it is like to not see darkness for weeks on end, to step out of one's home barefoot, to never tire. I remembered, gladly, the feeling of wild spring rapids in my heart and quivering limbs unable to hold still.

I know Spring will return. I know it is waiting just around the corner, and with it waits the person I recognize as myself. Dark clouds blanket Manhattan; I see the slightest streak of light at the horizon. I hold on.