First Winter After the Divorce

Breathless, she steadies herself against the front door, turns to survey all she’s done. A clear path shoveled through the snow. She realizes she’s smiling, unforced.

Her son hoists the head onto a snowman, the ground around him rubbed with snow angels. “Good job, Mom!” he calls. She does a little bow.

There’s nothing of the past in this moment. No fearful future. Just the truth of clean, right-angles of concrete; the V of winter geese barking overhead; sky, cloudless and shockingly blue; melting snow dripping off the roofline. Her heart, bucking hard inside her chest, reminding her she’s alive.