I could not sleep last night. The neighbor turned her floodlights out early; the night critters fell silent; the moon fled behind clouds. I remained alert. Mistakes and failures haunted me. Ripples of spasticity coursed through my legs. Eventually exhaustion dragged me into the abyss.
I woke before the alarm rang, in the darkened room, no glimmer of sunrise dancing on the grim, smoky horizon. I struggled downstairs and staggered through my galley kitchen. Coffee defied me. I cracked an egg and made a slice of toast and sat at my table, staring at the whirring blades of my little fan.
I left for work a few minutes late. I missed the cheerful old couple who walk along the levee in their BlueBlockers, swinging their arms and gathering trash. I slowed for the hairpin curve and strained to see around the berm, hoping for a big ship. Nothing; not even a little skiff. A wisp of sorrow rose in my breast.
But then: I turned onto Jackson Slough Road. And an angel whispered: Life sucks, we know, but here’s a tree full of egrets.
It’s the sixth day of the ninety-second month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.