leaves
Sunday evening, lying on my bed wrapped in a blanket my mother crocheted for me. The wind is battering the window making the panes shudder, the guttering outside creaking in protest. There’s a storm coming tonight they say, the biggest storm for twenty years. I’m leafing through the pages of my old journals. 2003, 2004 and 2005 already relived and tear-stained — now I’m wandering back through 2006. I hadn’t intended to read so far, but I want to know how the story ends. I turn the page and read a description of my imagined future life and immediately my heart starts beating faster — everything I’d written describes my life as it is today. Where I live, what I earn, the work I do, the places I have been. My achievements. My goals. The way I spend my days. All of it was written out on October 25th 2006. But what makes me smile the most are the pieces of the future I hadn’t even imagined: my love for my nephew, the deep friendships I treasure. Work that feels meaningful. The connections I’ve made. I couldn’t have imagined any of that, yet it came to be anyway. I open my current journal and set my pen to the paper: what future life can I conjure up now, knowing that something even greater will arrive, the pieces of the future I can’t yet imagine…