This morning I drank milky tea in my front yard, under a turning tree--what felt like a private celebration, and imagined what it would be like to work from home and raise a child.
Yesterday I was a part of the large cluster of those picking apples along route 20. I imagined what it would be like to work an orchard. I imagine the smell of fermenting apples and the sound of bees rejoicing might sound like home.
Last night we watched a powerful story of a black slave, searching for his wife. I try to imagine. It's too much to even try.
I drink my second cup of coffee later this morning and greet the familiar and completely predicted stomach acid that climbs my stomach. I imagine what it will be like to live unencumbered by an earthly body.
I sit at my desk now. I'm imagining. I imagine I speak confidently to others. I imagine I take what I want. I imagine I apologize less. I imagine I'm more patient. I imagine I have a common sense for cooking meat. I imagine I expect less of others without being pessimistic. I imagine I'm not afraid to imagine a future for my brother. I imagine I work harder. I imagine I remember I have everything I need and everything I've ever wanted. I suddenly don' t have to imagine anymore.