Life never stands quite still,
Yet change never comes in a day, an hour, a minute.
Change runs like the tide,
Rivers through rock, always winding,
Finding their way back home.
There is a power in moving slowly, in taking the time to carve canyons from the mountains,
The choice to continue to move with the motion instead of hold fast against.
One sunny day in April will not change the mountains I climb or the miles I have to go.
I can only choose to hold good days in my heart and string them together,
Let life be good when it is not perfect,
Expect from myself what I expect from my plants on my windowsill –
Sunshine, water, time, to grow.
It is April 2nd and it is snowing.
I walk to the subway to go to work and try to turn the mess of things I feel into words, into calm before I walk back into the hurricane.
The snow dusts my hair and I am lucky,
Winter hasn’t quite left yet and I breathe best when it’s cold.
I wonder when change comes in this whirlwind of white.
Spring is waiting and I wait for it.
The dusk of the days are longer.
The sun sets at seven instead of eight again.
I take myself to Alphabet City on Tuesdays and watch the garden on East 9th Street grow.
Every day, I walk my life toward change.
tonight i am not scared to grow up
for a long time,
i was afraid to grow up.
that just as the grass and the sunflowers and the cattails grow,
strong and tall and beautiful
So do I.
Summer storms have come back today.
The heat mixes with the sun and the rain condenses,
Builds to a crescendo and I am almost soaked on my way to the subway.
So much is different since the last time I felt the salt and skies of June kiss my skin.
I remember the darkness of the gathering clouds is nothing to be afraid of,
That the storm never lasts and the sun will draft prisms across the air of tomorrow’s early morning.
The wolves outside my window are quiet in the sheets of water.
Today is my day to survive.