I let the tub go, unscrubbed. I let the vegetables, the mud in the crisper, the holes in our front door where the wind blows through, all go. The sun came back today, and though it had only been gone for twenty-four hours, Davis seemed to jump for joy. It was like we were given back our Saturday, the farmer's market, our weekend run. Though the wind blew, and sometimes wisps of mysterious rain dusted the blue, I stayed outside with Penn and our neighbors. A ship was built and flown, old boards became shields and swords, oranges and broccoli were shared as equals, and adults chatted and laughed. Someone did a face-plant. Impromptu food and drinks were made. The stove caught on fire. (A paper bag, too close to the pilot.) A baby cat-napped, a friend spent the morning "sweating copper." I learned that phrase is actual shop-talk, not just verbal swagger.
It was a perfect day. It was a perfect illustration of how a day can be, when something opens us up and nudges us out.
I still managed to get stuff done: dinner, snacks for the looming week, nap, chicken chores. But it was really a day about slagging off--sunglasses and kicking a ball. When I let go, it seems, a little time wells up from the spot where I'd kept my stick in the mud. Elastic, that time is. And all mine. xox
