On mornings such as the one I am living right now, everything seems possible. The quiet hum of the laptop, a steaming mug of coffee, and an unlikely rain pelting the west window of the house -- a false sense of being completely at peace, of having the ability to accomplish even the most difficult tasks that might cross my path over the next 3 years as I navigate my journey as a graduate student in addition to all the other roles I have. The house is asleep, the rain is drowning out the sound of my typing. I was working in my customary spot in the kitchen this morning even before the sky was faint enough for me to discern the delightful cloud cover and muse, "It sure doesn't look like a desert." Closing my eyes in front of the window, I could smell rain in the air, and sure enough, two hours into my work, it started pouring without fanfare or preamble, and I was brimming with such fulfillment, a realization with flavors of premonition that it will be alright, no matter what "it" is, it will just be fine, accompanied by this inexplicable motivation to write, create. The words came without effort or design and led to wholesome satisfaction. What more can one poet ask of an ordinary Thursday morning?It is gone now, a few minutes of waning rainfall and the sky is silent again as if exhausted, though still shadowed. There might be more where that came from -- a heartening prospect and enough to keep me going through the rest of the day with unexpected buoyancy. Sometimes there is unparalleled perspective gained in the simplest of moments: at work in your home with good coffee on your desk and a temperamental sky over your head and you just know it: It will all be alright.
Photo by Rebecca McCue