She lost herself in the shuffle of motherhood.
A run: leaves drifting slowly from the crisp autumn sky.
Her breath, warm and steady, visible before her (as too, her heart).
Where has she been all these years, months, moments?
She used to have words, and then she lost those, too.
Everything was at once murky and bleak (the resident optimist suggested otherwise).
Sea and sky and surf and rocks, joining hands in a sunless celebration of grey.
She could fill the world with distraction and music,
but inside, the musings were lost, too, in the shuffle.
She missed her old self. (As well, her old friends).
Letting go of the familiar, choosing to emerge from the womb of comfort, safety, warmth.
The door closed, the door of familiarity and all that was once right.
She shut it herself, of her own volition.
She tried to stand in the light of the truth. She trusted her heart.
It should have been no surprise to her when the auspicious new door slowly creaked open.
Light poured out, and it was blinding.
She basked in that light, twirling, smiling out loud: big, laughing, tearful delight.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She stood in awe at her spirit.
She saw the reflection of truth.
She did not find the person she once most expected,
but her center was found.
Leaves falling again, reminding her to be present on this gorgeous sun-filled day.
A child beside her, eight years old, grateful for cursive letters, the color red.
A six year old bursting into laughter over a pair of banana slugs.
A golden puppy, a ray of light the color of California desert sand, loping along.
A husband who so faithfully sees only the light.
Así es la vida. La pura vida.
She is grateful for trusting her heart.