242)

I.
the forecast says rain
(and hopefully no
snow, at this point) for

days.  welcome
to spring in chicagoland.

II.
in that part of the
night too late to be
evening and too early
to be morning, the

thunder's constant
rhythm sounds like
fireworks, right in
the space above our
heads.

III.
grateful for the rain,
but hoping for dry
pavement so we can
hit the road, so i can
start running

(again).

233)

outside, it has been
raining for hours.  we

are having one of those
weeks where our schedules

never line up quite right,
he and i, and though it's

only temporary, it's
still unfortunate.  so

i'll take what i can get,
even if it's just time spent

in dreamland, together.
(i sleep better next to him,

anyway).  and even now,
i know it's worth it.

232)

and even though i am on
the verge of twenty-five,
i still have those moments.
you know. today it came
in the form of a gloomy
afternoon and a cup of
coffee before work...
thinking about all of
the things that have led

us here, and everything
that awaits us there around
the bend.  (and then i think,
is this really all mine?  this
life we've built together--a
job i adore, passion for
writing and running and
living to the absolute fullest,

and my husband, whom i
love more than words could
ever say... a rare feat for
a girl like me.  speechless,
breathless--

waiting and ready for
whatever comes next. this
belongs to me, to us, and
though it hasn't been easy,
it's so much better than i

ever imagined.)

(From Sunday afternoon, during the ice storm. Tomorrow's high is forecasted to be 61 degrees.  In January... yeah.  And then, on Friday, the high is 16.  What? Thanks, Chicago winter!)

230)

(A photo, unrelated, from New Year's Day.  I've never seen the city so empty.)

(12:18 a.m.)

i like to think
we were extra
virtuous in our
previous lives,

that even then,
we were meant
to be.

(12:23 a.m.)

when we kiss,
galaxies collapse
and collide.

223)

i.
a wednesday/saturday,
rainy and ray.  in other
words, a good day for
laundry, finishing a
good book.  we also
made a stop for coffee
(though abbreviated)
before dinner and an
evening spent together.

ii.

this makes today a

thursday/sunday,

and since we're both

free on this fall

day, we slept in,

lazed about, and

now we're here, the

coffee shop from

yesterday.  together,

we bask in the measured

quiet between us, a

delicious cup of coffee

with a good book and,

outside, swirling autumn

winds.

222)

we went for a
walk in the woods
today.  it was
sunny and brisk,
the perfect fall day.

the sky was bluer
than i've seen it in
a long time.  we
walked through
bright rays of

sunlight, fallen
leaves, cool breezes.
our fingertips
entwined, we made
our way down wooded

trails (together).

218)

there was a slight
chill in the air as i
drove home, not
totally unlike
a typical autumn
night.  summer is
hanging on, of
course, but already,
the sun is setting

earlier.  the end of
summer/beginning of
fall has always been
a favorite time in
my life... a period of
newness, inspiration,
a fresh start.  in past
years, school was more
of a catalyst.  now,

there are things
to look forward
to: transition,
growth, and the
opportunity to learn;
just as we fall into
the rhythm of the
seasons, so, too, do
the leaves start to change

and fall, like clockwork:

an affirmation, complete
confidence.

216)

[12:40 a.m.]
cocktails and togetherness
set against the backdrop
of an exposed brick wall,

here in this hotel room
on the morning of your
birthday--the seventh

one we have spent
together, the seventh
of yours that i have

helped you celebrate.
it is an honor to be here
with you, to be the

object of your affection.
my heart is full and yours,
always.

[12:44 a.m.]
sometimes all we
need is a change
of scenery; tonight
we find it in sage
green curtains and
bedspreads, the
television glowing
on the dresser. this,
tonight, happens to
be our getaway, our
temporary reprieve
from reality--just
the two of us, existing,

together.

215)

(four and a half years ago.)

we are making plans

in a big way... always

looking towards the

future.  tonight, it's

travels westward and

the promise of uncharted

adventure (i have

been longing for such

a journey as this

for months now.  when

i lose myself in daydreams,

the wanderlust takes

hold).  we are picturing

the mountains in

autumn.

213)

another hot (hot?  more
like sweltering, sultry,
summery) night--90
degrees at 12:19 am.
we are lucky enough

to be spending it
together, our schedules
having aligned just
so (like the stars,
hanging as diamonds

against a glittering
background of fated
dark), our routines
resettling.  the forecast
is calling for rain; i am,

admittedly, skeptical...
in a season such as this,
i wait with bated breath
(i will believe it when i
see it.)

157)

for as long as i can
remember, it has felt
like home--field trips
to the art institute, the
museum of science
and industry,

adventures to wrigley
field on hot summer days
to cheer on the boys in
blue, the home team,

and later, exploring the
city late at night with
the one who turned out
to be my other half.

just a month shy of
twenty four, i am overcome
with contentment, with
gratitude, for the windy
city and for the magic
found within.

156)

i.
i found myself transported
to another place in time,
a new year's eve journey
eastward.  there we were:

an afternoon to ourselves.
among other things, we
enjoyed a few drinks at
the bar and went for a dip
in the swimming pool. so
relaxing, so enticing--

exactly what we needed,
even we didn't entirely
know it, then.

ii.
(when you kiss me
like that, i swear
the universe blooms
and unfolds within
my very being;

it lingers for hours.)

155)

it is the ninth day
of the new year
and unseasonably warm
for january.

...comparatively, though,
it's not that much cooler
than the climate we just
visited--a little over a week
ago, we found ourselves
there on the edge of the sea,

exploring in the warmth and
sunlight.  now, up here
on the shores of lake
michigan (a different kind
of coast), we bask in the

strangeness of spring-like
temperatures and wait
for winter, knowing it
will arrive one way or

another, whether we're
ready or not.

154)

standing there beneath
the camellia blooms and
willow trees, i wasn't
sure that i had not
dreamed it all up, created
this world and stepped

inside (though, anything is
possible.)  i took a deep
breath and took it all in,
imprinting the bend of
the river beyond in my

memory, in my very
existence.

143)

(lake michigan and navy pier, from the 22nd floor of the w hotel.)

almost september, already?
i suppose summer can't
stay forever, but you
always seem to sneak
up too quickly. already,

the air is slightly crisp,
the sun is setting sooner.

already, i find myself
waiting for brisk breezes

and falling leaves.

142)

1.)
an old man and an
old lady, sitting by the
window, at a table;

a small, clean cut
party... history majors

2.)
instead of accounting--
a more relaxed crowd;

average early 30's
man in a buttoned up
trusty plaid shirt

3.)
and his love, perhaps?
wearing scrubs, just
home from work. a

calming blue glow

4.)
and the outline
of living rooms,
bedrooms:

chicago on a
late summer night.

132)

today; the first walk of the new year,

the first one since autumn. a stroll
through the streets of our current
home. the air is thick with spring

and rain, heavy with nostalgia and
anticipation. i fill my lungs until
they might burst, taking it all

in: the grey clouds lingering, wind
rustling the branches (with new green
blossoming leaves), road steady beneath

my feet. these are the days i remember,
all promise and calm uncertainty (anything

is possible). i exhale; the world turns.

130)

the weather has been pretty typical
for chicago in april. lately, i feel like
i've come to life again: revived through
warm breezes and cool rain showers.
i spend my days remembering and my
nights dreaming about the future (i've

been coming home to my best friend
for years, but in a mere sixty-five days,
it will be as a wife. his wife. sometimes,
life has a funny way of taking you
exactly where you always needed to be.)

129)

[a whirlwind missouri adventure, in two parts]

i.
day one:
eight hours of driving,
four hours of sleep. we
wake up, eat belated
birthday cinnamon rolls,
and hit the road. (it seems
we’ve brought winter with us.)

truman lake—rainy and
cold—then the castle ruins
tucked in that wooded
precipice. forty-five minutes

and a drive down a
winding country road to
a green house. a tour,
catching up. “you look just
like your mother.” we tend
to the farm. dinner is served:

rosemary lemon chicken and
cheesecake for dessert. wedding
favors and lots of laughing and,
eventually, snowy travels home.

after quiet conversation and a
long, hot shower in a blue tiled
bathroom, we sleep (drifting into
sleep from a full and lovely

thursday.)

ii.
day two:
the weather is not much
better—of course! we
bundle up and hop in the
car. US highway 50 and

an hour and a half later,
we reach our destination. we
explore a beautiful college
campus, wandering in and out

of those halls of learning and
knowledge. (particular time
is spent in the library. endless
rows of stacks; familiar quiet

and reverence.) later, we
head downtown: lunch and
shopping at the plaza. it
starts to get dark and we

get back on the highway,
heading for home. then
it’s time for movies and pizza
and more conversation, more

laughing. tomorrow we’ll
head home, sad to be leaving,
but happy beyond measure for
the opportunity to catch up, for

the feel of the open road.

127)

the blizzard, in three parts;

i.
of course, i was skeptical.
these things are overblown
fairly often, you know? well.

1967. 1979. 1999. 2011.
(and the third snowiest on record!)


ii.
“visibilities are so poor in open
areas that motorists could
become disoriented and
unable to even see beyond
the hood of their cars.”

…they weren’t kidding.


iii.
we fall asleep late, as usual,
as the wind whips wildly through
the trees and the snow blows
everywhere, settling on roofs
and driveways and back yards
in huge, drifting piles. we dream,
suspended in quiet warmth.