The sea-saw

You are not immune to these moments. Despite whatever cold you weather, rest assured the light will turn and Spring will come ‘round again. You know this. You know that tiny, ever singing bird perched on each heartbeat crying out for the goodness of belonging. That thing with feathers. You know it’s tune despite the lack of words. You know it exists.

I have found in my wanderings lately that the opposite of “I hurt” is “I hope”. Together they swing like children in the park of a gloaming May evening. They live together, harmoniously despite their differences. Two sides to the same coin like that shiny penny you tossed into the Bethesda Fountain years ago. What did you wish for, do you even remember? Or did you simply forget as soon as the copper left your fingers? Do you remember when the act of wishing was enough?

Today you have this. These petals on 28th Street and that technicolor in the primroses, a wonderland of nature tactile and heady to all of your senses. You have these moments of graciousness if you have the courage to take notice. To peek from beneath your own wing one shy eye at a time to see the beauty that engulfs you, how surprising to find so much when you feel you have so little. Eventually, it will be that person’s heart blinking at you like a firefly in June, in anticipation you will return the Morse code. But we aren’t there yet. We should keep swinging towards the sky until we are. We should keep wishing, just in case wishing is enough. 

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