The first semester at the new college is done. I love new beginnings, the sound of an engine leaping to life. The mind wrapping itself around and around the tree, blooming anew. The gerund refusing ending.
What happened taught me I could live with my regrets, that they too would restart, rebound: that they would redraw their boundaries, the country becoming smaller, or I am looking at it from farther up the mountain, from the helicopter, from space. That rescue was possible. That rescue was another country.
So, too, love.
Now: two glasses of wine, a plush blanket covering the carpet in front of the fireplace, new music playing softly, the living room window slightly open. The thin horizon of cold air lifting us toward some other place we are going toward, where we will arrive at the beginning of another story.