on birthdays and things forgotten.

for the first time in months, i am sitting at my own desk, my fingers running across my own keyboard.

this may seem like a small thing.
an insignificant thing.

maybe, in the vastness of life, it is.
but right now,
in this moment,
it feels a little bit like inspiration.

i look out of my window, and i see grey sky and green and swaying leaves, and a little piece of a heart that has been hard and hurt feels light.

today is a birthday.
a birthday i failed to make special.
a mistake i will make better.
but even without pomp and even without grand plans and schemes, i am so happy knowing he is in the next room, no more than a few footfalls away.

on windy days

today was a windy day.

the trees were bowing, waving, at once showing deference and dancing.

the glorious wind meant staying home from work, sitting on an olive green couch, devouring words and pictures that make my heart both settle and yearn.

and now i sit, waiting for my husband, whose day was not as perfect as mine, whose soul is not content as mine and my only solution is this:

french toast for dinner.