Indian Summer

I woke up and the sky was blue and righteous in all directions.
The sunlight was pure and powerful with no clouds to obscure it.
The trees, still stripped of leaves, got a taste of what it was like to wave in the breeze.
The pavement still wet from the storm.
Wilted, blackened grass shined with defiant green patches today.
The wind was cooling, but not cold, and it’s breeze was calm.
Animals removed themselves from their shelters and ran about.
Inspired, I went for a run.
And I passed open windows and playing children without coats.
In the distance, the hopeful noise of church bells rang.
Convertible tops were lowered, and bicycles freed from garage prisons.
Dogs were walked.
On my travels, I passed a father on a skateboard.
His helmet too small, his wife and small daughter laughing gleefully.
I gave a smile and a greeting and it was returned.
My city is alive today.
I returned home, wet with exertion and exhaustion.
The newspaper rose to meet me, the headlines a saga of yesterdays despair.
I paid it no mind; today is carefree and wondrous.
For the past is past, and we are all still here regardless.
We are all alive today.