On days like that these I dream myself home. I put myself in the yard—the air is warm in a soft, kiss your skin kind of way and it smells like fresh grass and sweet apple blossoms. I am out there barefoot, holding a bowl of blackberries—my hands sticky and my mouth purple. It’s quiet in a way that a city can never be quiet. I can hear my mother singing or my brother with his infinite clever comments. I can hear my sisters laughing. I can hear the neighbor’s door shut down the hill. I can hear my own thoughts give way to a happy nothing. In my dream, I close my eyes. I take a moment to feel the sun on my face and the soft blades of green between my toes. I suck the sweet air into my lungs and swish it around to taste its perfect flavor.
On days like these, it hits me—suddenly! Life may come in like a hurricane and knock all your most precious things down. They may shatter. You may come out battered and half broken. It’s true. These things can happen. It’s not an uncommon story. It hits me that I am not living as I should—that the life I need is just there—over those mountains—far but certainly not intangible.
I made myself a promise to always be happy; to shine; to believe in magic and everyday miracles. To fall in love with nothing more than the perfect blackberry or the way even a sprinkler can bring rainbows forth to dance. And above all to laugh my ass off all the way to the end.