The Blind Side

Like a beaten puppy, I hesitantly crawled out of the dark, musty room and stared unbelieving into the sun. Here it was, how simple it seemed now. A million people were already lining the pier; how could they have no doubt in their hearts? I followed the throngs, hesitantly, reluctant to share this space which all winter was mine. The Hudson lay like tin foil; I could feel my pale skin sizzle. A short breath to fill my lungs, and I had to go.

But then, against moody Grey Dog brick, I could feel the change. Like little ants of adrenaline, marching through my body, igniting flames so long extinguished. My hands telling a hundred tales, my breath quick, my eyes lit. The first spark of madness, so long awaited, so dearly missed.

Words spring back into my awakening heart. I know there is more, much more, to come, when sticky green buds speckle the view from my bedroom window. But this moment, too, is priceless, when I remember what light is, what life is. Tomorrow, I face the blank sheet of paper, and I remember why I came.