And You Were There, And You Were There...

Yesterday, I took a four-mile walk in the sunshine with a good friend and when I came home, I danced in the sunlit living room to The Cure.

I spent the evening huddled around a campfire in our backyard, watching a fat, pink moon climb out of the lake as we roasted marshmallows, passed around a bottle of bourbon, and sang old Johnny Cash tunes, accompanied by out-of-tune guitars, pot lids and measuring cups, and an old olive oil tin with a spoon.

This morning I sat barefoot for hours on a craggy rock at the edge of the lake, watching the ducks as the sun baked my shoulders.

Spring is finally here.

And yet, through all of this loveliness, an inescapable heaviness remains. I couldn't tell you why, but before going to sleep last night, I stood in the bathroom for ten solid minutes, rested my forehead against the cool glass of the medicine cabinet, and bawled my eyes out.


"It's a shooting star," she said, "Make a wish!"

"I don't see any shooting stars," I replied, squinting to find one. I looked and I looked, but the sky was a blank canvas above us.

And then, suddenly, there was a glimmer.

And then another. And then the whole sky was a glittering bouquet of shooting stars. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

As star after star shot across the sky, I tried desperately to think of something to wish for. But, in that moment, sitting with two good friends under a canopy of twinkling stars, I couldn't think of a single thing. I felt like I already had everything I could ever want.

And then I saw the sea turtle. He was flying through the night sky, his flippers like angel wings. I watched him for awhile and then I whispered, "Do you see that sea turtle? I didn't know turtles could fly."

My friend looked up. "He isn't flying," she said in surprise. "He's falling."

And I realized that she was right. The turtle wasn't flying at all, but rather he was hurtling toward the earth like an asteroid. We watched in horror as he arched through the dark sky, on an unavoidable collision course with the ground below.

We heard the crash, but we didn't see it.