Our community has endured a series of strange tragedies over the past couple of weeks. Today’s the day that Micah had a metabolic crisis and went to the hospital 13 years ago. The world is a dark and heavy place; we all know it. But that’s only part of the story. Looking for the wonder, naming it, giving it space in my life keeps my head above water.
I love falling asleep listening to the rain. I love cats that sniff your face and then kiss you on the chin. I love pizza and beer at trivia night downtown with the women. I love baby lettuce coming up in the garden, peonies buds almost bursting but still contained, poetry that comes in unexpected. I love chess in front of the fire and stories before bed. I love books lining the shelves, like friends from distant places somewhere in another time. I love kneading dough, chopping onions, letting pots of stew simmer. I love soft blankets, cozy sweatshirts, house shoes. I love the clack of my keyboard, Taylor Swift’s Midnights, the rainy night in the Hogwarts’ library playlist. I love walks with friends, emails from my favorite writers, books that come in the mail. I love baby ducklings with tiny bills and webbed feet. I love people that could be friends if only I had time to be friends with more people. I love a metaphor that makes the complex understandable, the story that makes you cry in the parking lot, the bittersweet joy of watching my boys grow up. I love ferns on porches and berries on bushes. I love weeding my garden and hauling wood. I love treehouses and hikes and canoes on water.
I love watch bands, my upcoming tattoo design, my nose ring. I love people being their weird selves, niche interests, and personal joys. I love podcasts and lectures and spoken word. I love trying new things, at least after the first time, and keeping beloved rhythms. I love a ritual that grounds me in time and space. I love this blog and I love my Substack and I mostly love being off Instagram. I love sitting on my back patio as the light fades and the birds sing. I love a fancy dress and my hiking boots, though maybe not together. I love watching my boys learn the violin and play soccer. I love watching my husband come alive, try new things, come back to old loves. I love his shoulders and his hands and his shaved head. I love a window that lets in the light and chairs that beckons you to sit and read. I love house plants and a good drink of any kind. I love hometown bookstores that invite you to stay and small diners with mismatched mugs and tins of cream.