last night, salimah and i stopped off at the whole foods in mt. washington to pick up a few items for dinner (a light one, since we're both still dealing with vestiges of the stomach flu). when we left, the sun had truly begun to set, and the rain clouds that had been grousing in the sky had begun to part in such a stark way that the sky was half fading blue, half charcoal-gray cloud, with a pink-lavender sheen that was so magnificent, it transfixed me. and as we made our way back to the car, the breeze was so cool and fresh that i couldn't help but breathe deeply, over and over. in the sky, a plane was cutting a path straight for that cloud formation. it was art, i tell you. sheer brilliance.
so brilliant, in fact, that some photographer was standing in the parking lot trying to capture the wonder of it all. and in his rapture, he, too, was photograph-worthy.
what affected me most about that moment, though, was the fact that i realized something: in that 30-second interval, i felt more alive than i had in months. i can't say that it was any one of those things that did it; maybe it was simply the combination of the parts. i don't know why, really. but i knew that i was grateful to feel that wind and see those colors and be there, just as i was, not needing anything more in that moment than the air in my lungs and the heart beating furiously in my chest.