Tigers

It's there when you wake up: sunlight, streaming through the shuttered windows. In your heart you already know: there will not be a better day than this. Go for a swim early, the water is cold, but impossibly refreshing. Drink more coffee than your tattered body can handle. Run through lush green fields and count the flowers. Trace lineage through the wrinkles of those around you. Go for another swim; dive deep into the lake and resurface brand new.

We wrapped ourselves in warm wool sweaters, stuck our feet in boots three generations in the making and waded through the deep grass, past the pastures, to the little clearing at the end of the woods. Took our clothes off and stepped carefully into the water. I have to swim naked here, she says, because this place is mine. We swam out to the middle of the bay and looked at the house where she dreams they'll one day live. One day, and the door is always open. By the time we made our way back, shivering with cold or with magic there's no telling, the sun took its few minutes of respite before climbing back into the sky. By the time we went to bed, the clearing in the woods was already light, the trees alive with birdsong. My skin was warm with sunlight, my chest full of exactly the peace I came to find. All the worries of the year, the stress of the trip and the heavy burden that is life, were suddenly all worth it. The sadness of mortality washed off my exhausted limbs, and I crawled into bed to sleep the deep sleep of the countryside. Tomorrow, all this will be a dream, but no matter. 

Dreams are life, too.