100 Proof

Some days build like the whistle of a tea kettle, starting quiet and ending at a full-on shriek. But any day’s challenges will eventually boil over and away—it’s time’s guarantee.

The sun will set.

Even if hidden by clouds, the stars will emerge. Rest at the sight of those small beacons.

The sun will set.

When there are no wires, light candles. Let flame chase shadow so you don’t have to.

The sun will set.

As the quiet settles, invite it to stay. Cease conversation. Be still.

The sun, it will most definitely set.

Some mornings, the tentacles of whatever story held me under the surface of sleep keeps its stranglehold on my brain even after I’ve emerged from bed. The dream stays salty in my mouth, changing the taste of toast, eggs, coffee. Even while walking to the bus, it is as if I am treading water, my legs at risk of tangling in seaweed and kelp. It might be noon, those days, before I am once again grounded, before I finally have both feet on this world’s shore.

Look carefully—all city birds are not as generic as they may appear. Sometimes, you can spot one hobbling on a stump, limping as it pecks at crumbs on the sidewalk. Once, I saw one balanced on a lone stem so slight it seemed impossible it managed to keep from toppling.

Perhaps many birds lose a leg, a claw—perhaps both. We never see the ones that can’t adapt to disability—they disappear behind trash bins, in alleys.

But the strong ones learn new skills. The one-legged bird needs to know how to land safely every once in awhile.

As dawn broke on my 30th birthday, I sat on a balcony chair, my belly torn apart by food poisoning, my then-boyfriend asleep in the other room, even though I’d told him how important this ritual was. The waking city below me sounded slow that Sunday summer’s day.

Sometimes twice fifteen feels like one hundred when it stumbles in. But that makes the next decade the one when we heal, become stronger than we knew we could, and finally leave the broken behind and shout out with more sure voices.

* For Dottie, at 30.