I sit on a wet driveway, letting the rain soak me. Forget sitting in solitude and reconstructed perfection, forget taking time to reflect and reconnect with yourself—I am too tired, and my head hurts too much, and anyways it is raining and I do not know what I believe.

But I am thankful for sky, and I am thankful for wind, and I am thankful for quiet windchimes in this neighborhood that has seen too much rain. I am thankful for the elderly couple that says good morning every time I get the mail. I am thankful for the children who laugh from behind a fence I cannot cross. In another world and another time I would cross it, and we would become playmates, and there would be a book written about our adventures. In this world I cannot even watch them, but I hear them every day.

But I am thankful for the park that lights up with Christmas lights at night. Even from the driveway I can see them, blazing in reds and whites, greens and blues, nursing to life a sense of community in this small and stifled town. Those tired eyes on the other side of the road feel that. For the first time I feel it a little bit too.

The sky turns purple and the wind becomes a roar. A car comes crawling past, a lone straggler on its way to Thanksgiving dinner. I wonder if someone is waving from behind those tinted windows. Today I am too tired to see through them, but on another day I will wave back.

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