Ten.Six Hundred & Seventy-Three
The roses just seem to appear out of nowhere. Some of them are still wet from the sprinklers. I gently shake away the little droplets.
Cool, almost cold.
Isn’t it a Monday?
I pick a seat facing the sun and close my eyes. The background noise for the meditation is of running water. I think of that one spot on the trail in Muir Woods where the water was running over the rocks and there was this tiny sliver of sunlight that broke through the canopy and made the water sparkle.
And then, just like that.
I have him do another breathing treatment and drink another glass of water. What it is about a child’s cough that hurts you so much?
I prep the peppers and the onions and the spices for the soup while the chicken thaws. I laugh at myself. At how I’m making soup because it’s feeling cool this morning. I mean, it does feel like soup weather. But it’s mostly a meal of convenience.
Whatever this is, it’s not worth it.
She asks me why I’m smiling. I tell her it’s because I got to have conversations with people I admire. She tells me that she’s proud of me. She thanks me for the hug.
Not folded, but clean. And today, that has to be enough.