Grateful

On a Sunday evening in November, I stood on lakeshore and listened. I was about to start a new job the next day and was keenly feeling that bend in time, the one you stand in when one chapter is closing and another about to begin.  This bend in time felt particularly weightless. The moon rose higher in a purple sky. Crickets chattered. Water washed shore – the cleansing, hushed swish-swash of a laundry machine. My ears grew cold. I turned...