We are on the cusp of spring. Yet it is going to snow tomorrow. Work is good. But it is so busy. I’m not writing enough. But I’m finally reading more. I have some new, sudden question marks hanging around the edges of my awareness. The weight of my domestic tasks – summer camp health forms, new battery for the car, deposit checks, pack lunches, laundry, write birthday cards – seems to grow and grow. The childrens’ new Crocs for summer have arrived and they are alarming, heartbreakingly large. My desk holds a vase of cheerful yellow daffodils, an always-blinking blackberry, and the shell that Whit painted for me for Valentine’s Day.
I went for a run this evening, which was hard, because I am tired, and because my Achilles tendon hurts. The iron sky spat cold rain/sleet on my face. I ran down familiar streets, past my parents’ house, along the river I love so well. And I came home to the smell of Grace and Whit’s dinner, to their animated noise, deep love and endless demands wound together in their pressing, urgent way.
I came upstairs and sat at my desk, looking out the window at the tree I love so much. All of a sudden its branches are swollen with buds. The buds are full, reddish, the branches slightly drooped from their new weight of fecundity. Did this happen overnight?
Moved by a power I cannot name I knelt by the window, my elbows on the windowsill, my hands clasped. This has happened to me before and I felt the same sensation, of something greater than me filling the room. It was connected, somehow, to the reminder of the turning seasons outside my window, and it gave me both an overwhelming feeling of comfort and an intense need to express my gratitude. My head rested against the cold pane of the glass. I thank you god for this most amazing day ran through my head, over and over again.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for all of the immense blessings that my life holds. Thank you for my legs which can still run, for the health and energy of my children, for the steadiness of my husband, for the well-being of my parents and sister, for our financial stability, for this house, which is small and humble but also safe and warm. For my friends and for poetry and for the food in the fridge and for every single thing I have. My GOD, I have been so ungrateful, so often. Thank you.
My breath fogged up the glass and I knelt, still, murmuring more thanks. I’ve felt so cold lately, and I began to shiver, so I stood up. And I picked up my blackberry and walked downstairs into the warmth of the kitchen, the chaos of the children, the noise of my life.
I thank you god for this most amazing day (ee cummings)