New Morning

I didn't realize the weight until it was lifted. But this morning I could breathe, I could run, I could sing, and although no one was watching, I danced.

The park I love, the place where you can find me some mornings before sunrise, was asleep under a blanket of fog when I arrived. Shivering in the early chill, I diverted my attention to the music playing in my ears. "Harmony Hall" by Vampire Weekend:

    "Anybody with a worried mind can never forgive the sight

    Of wicked snakes inside a place you thought was dignified

    I don't want to live like this, but I don't want to die."

 The insurrection at the Capitol was one of the ugliest sights I've ever seen in the seven decades I've been alive. It is not one that can be easily erased, and it probably shouldn't be, despite the weight of it. But I don't want to continue here with graphic descriptions of something you've all seen. You already know how frightening, how ugly, how effing unbelievable it was. It will take a long time to move it back from the front row of memory.

I turned my focus to the birds that inhabit my park, trusting that I could remember all their names. Boat-tailed grackle, Florida parakeet, pileated woodpecker, anhinga, ibis, and all the varieties of egrets and herons. They were all there, welcoming me back.

I turned a corner from a shaded grove to an open field. The fog was lifting, the sun was rising, and all perspective shifted in that moment. It was, indeed, a new morning. The sun rose on the day that I have been waiting for . . . January 20, 2021. Have you been waiting, too?

And so I danced. No one was watching. But despite that, I knew that I was not the only one. America exhaled, and our collective breath promised a return to dignity and truth and compassion.

It's good to be back.