The kids were up early, and I lay in bed longer than normal listening to them chatter, peppered by bits of bickering. The season’s are changing, and it’s probably time to slide my windows shut, I thought as the almost-chilly air slid over the sill and down onto my head. I love when the seasons change; the air turns before the leaves even begin. I’ve been watching my big maple in the front yard, waiting for the first edgy haze of orange and yellow- but not yet.
Once upon a time, September 18th was the happiest day of my life. Today would have been my eleventh wedding anniversary, if I were still married. It’s just an ordinary day now, maybe special for someone else, but not for me. Can I still claim the happiness that once was, despite the flaming catastrophe that immolated that happiness and the family it created? Do I want to?