It’s raining, and everyone is moving away. A few years ago, this type of thing filled me with an immeasurable sadness, a choking feeling. My throat closed around it. It stopped me from breathing. The thought of my community disintegrating beneath my fingers tasted like ash and lack of air.
Today, the house into which I moved when I first came to the Miami area is legally evaporating, lease over and contract up. I will spend the day helping a friend who is like a brother finish packing an apartment I moved out of months ago, and I’ve already hugged another goodbye– Tuesday’s seen him off to another state.
And now it feels light. This is a wheel turning onward, and I have no desire to stop it, still it, make it turn back.
What changed? I did. I learned to breathe this wind. There is air here after all. It’s raining, and I’m not alone.