I awoke to a barrage of pictures in my news feed, astonished question marks and snow covered courtyards. Heavy flakes fell carelessly to the ground, ignorant of calendars and impatiently thawing souls down below. I waded through the slushy cemetery, impervious to the cold. Promises of a new foundation lay giggling in my memory, the day behind me seeming an impossible treasure. Birds sang in the trees, I knew they knew something that had been knocked out of the rest of us.
By evening, the sun returned, the snow turned to floods along the sidewalks; I saw the power of warmth and longed for waters in which one could swim, could be washed cleaned.
It is not what you had expected, this life. But it is yours, and yours alone. You must claim it, reclaim it, make it the best damn life you can.
The grass will be greener, it will. And I will run barefoot through it.
Just you try and stop me.
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