I was sitting in the new grass--sort of an inky gray green under the stars--at the top of the hill and I saw a burst of fireworks down in the distance across the valley. For a moment I wished I had someone beside me to back up my eyes with their own, but before I'd even finished that thought I heard proof--the faint echoed bang, a few seconds too late but attached all the same to the bright ball of sparks I'd just seen. And then another, and another. I don't know why someone would set off fireworks late in the evening of Good Friday, but I'm glad they did, because I felt rewarded. Here I am, being really damn selfish but trying to pretend I'm not, being over-tired and under-positive, and despite my disappointment in me there are fireworks in the distance.
I am in an empty house this weekend. I do get used to the way I rattle around when I'm the only one here, but solitude doesn't fit nearly as well with who I am these days than it might have in the past. I am trying to keep my back straight and I am trying to remember how I used to always rely on myself first and not second. It's hard. I have gotten into the habit of leaning and so when times come when there's nothing to lean on, I find myself toppling backwards.
But I will pretend this is my cabin in the woods, and I'll wake up tomorrow morning with the sun streaming in.
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