I put this moment here.
It’s hard to keep the dire state of the world in mind on an early summer night, driving home from kickball. I stopped at the marsh overlook in Orleans to watch the sunset for a minute, backlit gorgeousness. The trees are glossy with good health, grasses waving high, birds calling. The nights are gentle, and quiet — in that in between moment of memorial day and the schools still in session. I was the only car on the road for most of my drive down 6A.
It feels unchanging. It’s hard to keep the thought in mind: this is all in danger.
On the radio, the local community station switches over from bluegrass to — I swear to god — the ukulele hour. Every week, ukulele! Interviewing some guests, the host says — look outside, look at that light. It’s so delicate. It was, too. Behind me bruise purple, in front of me golden rose. Above, still blue. It was the most delicate sunset. Not dramatic or vivid. I felt at that sweet peace when you have pushed yourself out of your comfort zone and don’t hate it.
Now it’s grey — rainy days, the June gloom. The overlook is gorgeous, but in a moodier way.
School’s out this week and already driving is a bit more white knuckled. But I remind myself, nothing but time. In between appointments I think about what I want my business cards to look at. My client’s son gives me a paper fan to keep myself cool at kickball. I am working on habits again. Bed made, dishes washed. Pictures taken. Words written. Even, sometimes, cooking. I’m always shocked when something I cook tastes good. Last night it was angel hair with raw tomato sauce — all bright and bursting with flavor. I did a little dance in the kitchen when I sampled the sauce.