Blessings

Where to even start?

This life I have:

so charmed and so hard,

so full of both and all.

This life I have, 

contained within this moment:

the scent of the lilac blossoms

plucked from the neighbor's tree,

its fragrant bough heavy with bloom

bending over the fence into my yard;

the view of the yard

through the window above the table,

which supports both the lilac vase

and the page on which I write these words;

the weight of the dog’s head on my lap

as I sit, writing, at the table;

the feel of his fur against my fingertips,

soft and warm from the afternoon sun;

the rise and fall of his chest

as he inhales . . . exhales . . .

inhales the lilac-scented air sustaining us both.

This life I have,

holding so many moments within it:

the rise and fall of hope

as I wake . . . sleep . . .

wake to the dappled fullness each day brings;

the feel of joy and sadness in my hands,

spilling out of my cupped palms

over the sharp contours

of the space I have carved out for them;

the weight of knowing and not knowing

what it is I hold in my hands

and what they can never contain;

the view of a life perpetually transformed,

the hardnesses – fierce agents of change –

highlighting the bright, the soft, the sweet,

then becoming light themselves;

becoming with time and grace,

the scent of the lilac blossoms.