I take three deep breaths and two sips of coffee. Slowly, I open his door and he pulls his covers over his head. I slip into bed beside him and pull him close to me. I breathe. He breathes. I kiss the top of his head and tell him that I didn't feel good about what just happened between us; calling me names and throwing a hard object at me makes me feel angry and scared. I tell him that we can't act out like that but we can have these big scary feelings together. We can hug and hold each other; we can talk about it.
Promising air is streaming in through the open windows. I can see blue sky. We lay wrapped up in each other a little longer; silence. I close my eyes and inhale the smell of his hair. My imperfect self is fully present. I whisper to her, I love you.
My kitchen window faces this empty land, which is only considered empty because no houses grow on it. The other night I was washing dishes when the setting light wrapped itself around the weeds. The beauty gripped me so strongly that I put my sponge down and grabbed my camera. Crouching down in the overgrown grass and mounds of big red ant piles, I clicked the shutter three times. This untamed encounter was so brief, and yet I walked away feeling a knowing so deep in my bones that it ached.
...stone fruit, homemade ice cream, lime-drenched gin and tonics, sundresses, bare feet, rounds of friends and family, sunburst smiles, salads-fresh, dreams coming true, market walks, slow time, sprinklers, morning garden work, pool dips...
Present with gratitude.
