New Day

Where did this day come from? Out of the thick as molasses night air I could barely inhale dawned a crisp sunny morning with a breeze that ruffled the hickory's feathery leaves and nearly made the maples chime. "Want to have coffee out on the deck today, mom?" I asked. She has not left the house in weeks, now favoring the filtered chilled air that makes it easier for her to breathe in summer in Virginia. Nodding, she removes her oxygen and hangs the noose shaped canula over a chair stem. We step onto the deck and immediately I see her eyes close for a stretched moment in gratitude. She scans the backyard, so densely leafed out by now that we can barely see the houses that back up to ours across the creek. As she inhales deeply, a smile creeps in. It's her wedding anniversary today, but her husband died two years ago. He loved to sit with her out on this deck. As if called, our red cardinal flies to the feeder and glances at mom. Deciding it's okay to eat, he gets to work pounding out sunflower seeds. Her silver curl stirs in the breeze. "This is lovely, just lovely."