![]() ![]() ![]() We stood together in the open doorway breathing in the dank sweet air, squealing, clutching each other with fear and glee at every clap of thunder. We are cocooned by death and the sound of heavy rain.Īs children, we loved to watch it storm - the wind flailing the trees, the lightning stabbing the sky, the rain thrashing its way toward earth. Gray light bleeds through curtains drawn against a late summer storm. I hold her hand, sitting next to her bed in the room where she once dreamed her teenage dreams. My own breath comes hard against the pain of losing her. They flutter almost imperceptibly beneath the plastic of her oxygen mask. My heart jumps before she breathes again. Her lungs make crackling sounds as she takes quick, shallow gasps, her chest heaving in short bursts followed by long drawn out moments of utter stillness, each one longer than the last. I live where the river meets the sea, where push comes to shove, where love and anguish, blame and forgiveness, laughter and sorrow converge on the way to understanding. The river flows by me, and flows through me. At night the rising moon hangs above the jeweled horizon like the Eye of God. Late afternoon turns the entire West side of Manhattan to flame. The morning sun glances off the water strongly enough to blind you. My windows open to the East, the direction Native Americans believe one must face to ask blessings for a new beginning. ![]() I live where the waters of the Hudson end their cold journey to the Atlantic. #1 Reader comment: "I couldn't put it down!" For anyone on their own heroine's journey. ![]()
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