Yesterday, I saw a man racing through the grocery store with roses in his fist
and a goofy, proud smile on his lips. I was buying ice cream - a request
from my stepson - and when I came home and put the carton in the freezer,
my body registered its own small delight. I am certain we are each
stumbling through this world with the lumpiness of our foolishness and hope,
grasping at whatever's within easy reach to help us say the thing
we don't quite know how. Sometimes love is faceted as amethyst,
winking at us from a distance and strangely cloudy up close.
And then, suddenly, there we are, smelling of roses, our fingertips
ringed with chocolate, bearing the grace of what we've been given to speak.