Sunrise

I decided to interrupt the sorrow. Darn right. You see, I was walking up columbus and figured it was time for liberation's dawn. It's my turn to lock the door and turn to a major key. I'm changing the clocks an hour forward and leaving the rest behind.

People spend their lives in flux. It's all about what they have, or don't. Whether material or abstract, we're defined by acquisition.

None of that really matters anymore, because I like who I am, and that is enough.

It's 85 degrees in New York City. There's no breeze off the Hudson, and the trees in Riverside park have finally settled into calm. There's a little boy tripping over his shoelaces as he trots toward a passing ice cream truck. He's eyeing the raspberry popsicle and tugging at his mother's purse for change. Breathing in a golden wisp of July, she folds over the corner of her summertime novella and tends to his exuberance. Radiant.

Lavender turns to rosey cheeks and everything. It's simpler, after the fall.