The work is ploughed through before me, light shines in through the windows and what seemed impossible, horrible, undoable is now done and neatly stacked beside me. I breathe a deep, refreshing breath of accomplishment and then attend to the ever growing list of things not yet done.

A walk across town, my feet feel alive and awake. My legs stride through the air, my feel padding on the cement sidewalks, and my heart beats in time with the rhythm of the city. I love this place, this light, the smell of the ocean, the breeze across my face, in my hair. There are enough resources to accomplish everything intended. I am not afraid.

I pause in the park, a scattered cluster of men and women in bathing suits lay on their stomachs, sunning their backs. A happy hound runs from one end of the field to the other. No one claims him, so he sniffs at everyone. the woman reaches back to swat away the dog’s cold nose and shows me her breasts. A beautiful trolly from 1947 rolls to a stop and opens its doors.

I caught up today, and feel wonderful about it. I reconnected today, clarified and made plans. Last night seems like a month ago, and the heaviness of my heart, the tears, my repeated asking for silence, to end the conversation, my inability to pray [color=#999933]because I could not find the right words[/color] or meditate [color=#999933]because I could not find the quiet to listen[/color] and the deep exhausted sleep which followed seems like something I read about once. Something familiar perhaps, but nothing I experienced myself.

I spent some time in reflection afterward, massaging my calf, and thinking through the points which seem to connect and disconnect so quickly in my mind. I consider what a profound impact they seem to have in my heart. If only we talked, I feel sure that things might be better, or feel better anyway. Funny, see? I know that things are what they are, and are exactly as they are supposed to be. I know that my efforts to clarify are the battle cries of war and justification. I know that my best efforts to do what’s right, and kind and loving are all too often interpreted as cruel, horrible, false, and futile. So I see that what effort I make, where uncalled for, is simply selfish haste. My own efforts to achieve some result. It is pointless. So I continue to take the avalanche’s weight upon myself, and know with all my heart that it is only snow which seems to crush me. Snow is only frozen water. And water surely evaporates in the sunlight.

I raise my face to the sun, admiring the sway of the branches which poke out into the sky like fronds, or the staccato tips of an awning come undone. The woman re ties her bikini top, and looks around thoughtfully to see if anyone was checking out her bare breasts [color=#999933]everyone was, of course they were. perhaps she was only checking to assure herself that everything was right in the universe. it is.[/color] I am wearing my wrap around rhinestone sunglasses, so I just act innocent and make no move.

I hear the sound of my heart beating. Something gives deep within me. I ease more completely into the bench, and breathe a little more deeply into my lungs.