Broadway

As is habit on Saturday morning, I scheduled breakfast with my sister at the local greasy spoon. I was driving down Broadway (which is Broadway in the way only a Broadway can be in a small midwestern town), enjoying the trees with their vibrantly green new leaves, the daffodils coming up in the gardens, the precision painting that decorates the old Victorians lining both sides of the street. The sun was shining, there was a crisp breeze tousseling my hair through the sunroof, birds were singing their spring song.

A sense of peace flooded over me like a tidal wave. It isn't something that struck me, like the slap of cold water in the face. It was sort of an enveloping warmth, a realization that's been creeping in for awhile. Life, somehow, has righted itself. I am in awe of the methodical, plodding way in which order and sanity have been reestablished in my life.

I thought of some of the people I know: friends and acquaintances for whom I wished the same sense of peace, the same feeling of calmness and the strength that comes from knowing that everything is as it should be. I thought of people falling on hard times, of long-standing relationships crumbling, of family members passing on. I said, "Thank you," to whomever it is that I thank when beauty strikes me, and wished with the deepest part of my heart good things to those I know deserve a bit of respite.

Today was a beautiful day. I can't wait to see what comes with the sunrise tommorow.

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"God never slams a door in your face
without opening a box of Girl Scout cookies." (Elizabeth Gilbert)
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