I leave the city in summer and return to winter (but do not fear, I was not gone for more than 21 consecutive days).
The snow is here, the leaves are gone, and the moisture has been pulled from the air–frozen.
I buy a great big bag of salt while out with a friend and carry it on my shoulder for the long walk home. She offers to help, but I did this to myself.
I bid on a painting at a Denny’s as a joke, and of course, I win. A Selection of Seagulls will hang above my couch in 10-14 business days.
I start writing again, just to help and without expectation. I realize not writing had also been hurting.
The anxiety eases. The pain lessens. I’m sleeping again. My heart, which had been breaking, begins to mend.
I leave the city in summer, and I come back again.