Rise

Dawn arrives too soon, again, it drags you from a heavy sleep and strange dreams, you negotiate with the alarm clock but somehow win the battle against yourself. Dress in a daze, stumble down subway stairs, see the sun rise over quiet Brooklyn cobblestone. You know a brief vacation approaches, a moment that is all your own, and you savor the steps along the brownstones. 

In an unassuming corner space, in the back nook, a group of writers settle in on leathered seats, make their excuses and laugh in recognition. You don’t know what you don’t know until you know it, a voice whispers in my ear. You relax into the furniture, relax into the sunshine, pry open the tight strings around your heart: for a brief moment you have only this, and it is more than enough. For a brief moment, the breath in your lungs remembers your name, remembers who you are when all the frills are swept away. Time is a gift we give ourselves.

Receiving it graciously is a skill I continue to practice.