treading lightly

For days in a row, now, the sun
has shone brightly on me, making
me begin to believe it is summer:
a season of light. I finished two
two projects in the house yesterday;
today I painted a room that has been
waiting for weeks to be a different
color, and tended to my garden,
watering the small green tomatoes
that hold such promise. I even
made a soup from left overs in the
fridge. I feel awake, aware, and even
useful, and I find it hard not to wait
for the other foot to fall – the foot
that stomps daylight into darkness
and kicks me into free fall, into the
days of unpainted rooms, undone
projects, and unplanted gardens.
“How do you feel?” the doctor asked.
“Like myself,” I answered. Why, then,
do I let myself believe the lie that is
my depression, the lie that says it can
permanently change the weather
of my heart when I know it will
come (and go) like the Dixie storms
that punctuate my Carolina afternoons;
the dark thunder clouds are real and
they are temporary; the sun, however
comes up every morning -- it’s true.

Peace,
Milton