By Maryanna Gabriel
It has been a strange spring. The lilac by the front door has not yet bloomed, the latest ever. I was lucky enough to get an invitation to Long Beach. A friend of mine has a home there. Nine of us women piled into cars and drove the track, a winding highway in reconstruction. I arrived ahead of the others and lo, the clouds parted. I walked a most beautiful beach and watched as the white crests of waves danced in frothy joy in the sunlight. A shell tumbled along the smooth sand. Little pipers jittered in and out of the water and my bare feet reveled in the warmth of it, the smooth sensation of fine sand a healing massage. The wind roared over the sound of the sea, and if I was trying to think a thought, it was blown right out of my head. My poor sore back straightened and my lungs gratefully breathed. This is how it should be. It was as though I have been enduring so very much, for so very long, and a curtain had parted, showing me how good life is and can be, a barometer I had forgotten. Like heaven. Or a memory from childhood. Or before one has been tumbled about by bad behaviour. Over and over I said, thank you, thank you.
Later we were to sauna, read a'loud, write poetry, sing, cry, laugh, and feast, as we shared stories after three years of not coming together. The morning we left, a rainbow glowed in front of the house. Oh my.
