Cold, rainy day. Not enough layers to wear and too many for May. Chocolate ice cream for dinner, but when I step out the front door the mist looks like snow in the streetlight. The drenched sidewalks glowing golden under the streetlight, forgetting to be gray.
“We can do hard things,” she shares time and time again, these past months. I match my breath to my movements, let it unravel on the mat, and follow her lead, this wom_n who walks the same path, the one lit by the starlight in the darkest nights.
We can do hard things. We can show up in the dark, in the rain, and look for the light.
