Of Bears and Penguins

There’s a thousand and one (that’s a precise number) things I should be doing. The vast majority are things for school, a smaller portion are assignments for certification courses and the smallest bit is things like laundry and cleaning.

But right now it seems important to write. Simply.

***

The old woman’s short hair white gray stood up from her head. Her face was close to the bone, as old people’s are and her lips thin as old people’s are and she looked as though she was shrinking as old people do. These were not unpleasant things. She simply looked as a woman looks who is old, and so light that she might float out of her chair were it not for the burdensome winter clothes she wore.
She smiled through the concert. Her thin lips pulled up, and her eyes twinkly. She brought her hands together as the small child claps, hands meeting as mirror images of one another. She was joy as the chorus sang, moved, clapped, shouted as the orchestra zinged, bowed, plucked, as the winds blew, growled, barked. She was joy when the man sang that every valley shall be exalted, and joy when unto her the child was born and joy when her redeemer liveth and joy when we all jived through the hallelujahs.
She beamed that joy around her, and she clapped like a child. In the music we were all holy for a moment here in Baltimore.

***

I’m counting the days till I’m GTT. It stands at 12 and a wake up.