Today I will Dance

Two years have passed since my mother left this earth. The date on the calendar does not make me tumble into a melancholy stupor.  I hear my mother’s fierce spirit,  singing in my head, Today is a beautiful day.

My heart is open, no longer covered by the heavy quilt of mourning. I walked to work, no, I skittered across the gleaming sidewalks framed by ice ornaments hanging on the trees, leftovers from a recent storm. They have become shiny bright wrappers sparkling and glittering in the sun. The air smells clean in its coldness,  blending in the  faint intoxicating promise of spring. My mother would have  pronounced it a wonderful day to hang up the freshly laundered  clothes. She would smile and praise our sculpture of pastel underpants, flanked by half denim ghosts saluting the parade of salt covered cars.

 Her view  was never obstructed by dirt, or pain, or regret. She always saw the good.

I am overwhelmed with the need to dance, to yell, to raise my hands to the sky in grateful joy to my mother, for this life, this world, this time.