I miss them dearly.
Today, though, I’m more grateful than ever that when they came down, they landed softly, on the grass, instead of violently, on my sleeping parents or our neighbor’s house.
This morning, in the absence of the trees, the blue sky over my head was bigger than ever. The grass was fuller, taller, shiny with dew. Our longtime neighbor, whose deck had been blocked from view by the trees, waved to us for the first time in 30 years. “Turkey’s already in!” she shouted. We smiled, waved back, chatted briefly about ham glaze and corned beef.
Tonight, wild, faraway stars and blinking airplanes carrying people home will dot this wider sky.
Maybe when things fall down, or go away, it lets us see more of something else. Smell more. Turn our face to the sun, open up to longtime friends.
And then maybe after some time, all of this can afford us just little bit of peace.