Maybe soon … ‘Walk out into the springtime, and look: the birds welcome you with a chorus.’
5:05 am. Tuesday morning.
Mid-January, 40° F. 40° F, and Australia is burning.
Cabin is quiet, but for the heater humming, knocking down the chill.
Headlights illuminate I-95, dry road. 74 mph. Speed lane. I pass Truckers on my right, a convoy racing to beat rush hour into Manhattan. Google Maps updates arrival time in Midtown: 55 minutes.
I re-grip the steering wheel, shift in my seat, adjust the seat belt, uncomfortably snug across my lower belly.
Two nights before. At kitchen table. Fingers untie the bow, then move to the white wrapping paper covering the gift from the Chocolate Chalet. Hand made chocolates, hand selected by a friend, a colleague, and her children. Milk Chocolate. Raspberry jelly. Cherry. Vanilla Creme. Dark Chocolate. Nut clusters. I cordon off a Do Not Cross area around the table signalling My Box, My Chocolates, My Zone.
One night before. Monday Night…
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It Is What It Is 