For Now

A couple breaks up next to our table at breakfast. Sunny, mild Sunday morning in the East Village and she cries into the remains of her kale salad. His plate is clean, his face looks bothered that this isn't over yet. They split the check; I want to tell her to leave and stick him with the bill, but she is feigning civility. The space is small; everyone knows what is going on. It's not even noon.

I went for a long run, later, as dusk was settling in and Brooklyn was going dark across the water. I thought how this city is mine, how it continues to live and breathe in me day after day and what a blessing that is. What a terrible abyss if it no longer should be. My steps were lighter at the reminder.

We are not out of the woods.
But we are in them, together.