After a day of thick, gray rain, I imagine spring being near. I imagine myself at Chanticleer garden, in the opening hours. Maybe my friend Annika will be there.
In the meantime, I will be grateful for the day that was. For the enormous kindness of a certain editor who (even in the midst of her great personal busy-ness) stops to write and to give me hope for my Berlin book. For the time I had to return to a memoir-long-in-the-making. For a client who stops to thank me for project work completed thus far. For studently goodness. For a text from my son. "Wrote 11 stories for the TV station today," he said. "You're really good at that," I told him.
I'm taking the earliest train to Philadelphia tomorrow, so that I can take a still-early train to New York. I'll spend much of the day on Wall Street then, but I'll be back in time for dance.