Two weeks ago, they ate kale in Paris for the first time.
I’m sure the cheese accompaniments were sublime.
Tomorrow night I’ll be in New York City.
The art elevated, the yoga nonstop, the restaurants unending.
Every day friends post photos from Nepal, Turkey, Chile. Breathtaking.
Today, walking past the little library, from which I’ve taken and given,
under the golden leaves that spiral down as though in an autumnal snow globe, covering the sidewalk with coins,
I want to be here.
Here is not perfect. Here is here.
Here will have snow and ice soon enough, slick days and frigid ones.
And yet, I am filled with gratitude so great that
I marry it again and again, in sickness and in health.
Thankful that of all places in the world, I am here.