#writingsfortumblr

the sky is such a pale shade of powder blue, it’s almost white. a light dusk, still just dark enough to sting, a gentle sinking of sun behind an endless dark-blue january. this is the darkest month. not by truth, by experience. the trees stand still, as if afraid that the slightest sway will make the world grow darker, sooner. a dog runs in the park below. not mine. the sky is holding a bird hostage. the ground–would you believe it? there is some grass still poking through.

It takes strength to laugh, hard and deep, real and rooted and glorious, in the face of an immeasurable grief. We are laughing at death. Come for us, then. We will laugh in the meantime. We will laugh like nothing is lost or will be lost. How do you tell your family that you are proud of them for laughing? -- I am proud of you for laughing. Here, in these Sundays, we forget that there is any pain at all. In these Sundays, a small glow in my chest radiates through me and into the house, and then everything is warm, the lights are on above the table where we sit, brilliant and strong, blocking out the cold. It is so warm, it is too warm. How lucky we are, to say that we are too warm. Here, the holy reminder that life can radiate so much light that you’ll be just fine when you end up in the dark and cold again, because you will, you will end up in the dark and cold again. And when it comes, there is a warm home with its lights on, waiting for you. All of us still here, still laughing.