Alive

The weather changed our minds. It had locked us in, in the early week, with snow and ice and howl. Then, Thursday afternoon, Friday, Saturday, warmth arrived, true sun. It was as if someone had unclenched her fist (was it my own?) and said, "Go. Live. Be."

At home, my son made me laugh. Many times. "You have this twinkle in your eye," I said.

At the farmer's market, the man selling me nuts began to whistle a song, told me he was rehearsing. "What for?" I asked him. "We're forming a group," he said, "of old singers." "Like that movie?" I said, "Young at Heart?" "Yes," he said. "Precisely. That's me."

At the library they had the book I needed—The Man Who Made Wall Street. I took it home.

At Anthropologie they were selling red shoes. I own them now.

In the blogosphere the lovely reader and craftswoman Bella Fox included me in the embrace of the Proximidade award (for bloggers "who aim to find and be friends").

At night there were stars.