A few minutes ago I was squatting on my balcony, stuffing laundry into the machine with stretched sinew and the gusto of a man who knows his wife is coming back from a ten day vacation tonight. Needless to say, the house must be clean.
But all that laundry-stuffing was interrupted by a breathtaking cobalt blue sky pouring onto my back. I looked up. How had I missed it? Arrays of clouds in breathless patterns, chaotic yet ordered, honest and unguarded, open to whatever roads or shapes the wind might funnel or fashion them into.
The laundry stopped, and for the umpteenth time this week I drew in a breath of thanks. My life of late has been nothing short of a cup brimming over. Ten days without my gorgeous and bustling wife is a good excuse to reflect, and reflect I did, under the newly acquired stars that lumber like glaciers across my rooftop sky. I saw one shoot by yesterday. Again, a breath (or two) of thanks.
There are times when everything around you feels like crumbly, parched desert. And yet there is enough where you thought there was nothing.
That’s been the story of my last 5 years.