from such great heights

There are things I know, that I've always known: the bliss of a quiet afternoon spent in sun and shade, the comforting presence of a well-loved book, the healing power of a hug, the sweetness that comes when music reaches into your heart to tell you Yes, this is hard, but things are going to be okay.

Somehow, the truth of that last one has the habit of receding like the tide--- pulling so far from my view that I can't hold it in my  hands and make it true until it is ready to come back to me, rushing around my ankles and knees in wave after wave until I am surrounded by the solace of beautiful music, buoying my heart and my body.  And then I'm floating in it: sweet comfort that only music can give.  Music deep and lovely, ethereal and palpable at once.

Such was yesterday's small gift of grace.  I worked quietly at my boss' home office--- he was at meetings for most of the morning and I had the run of his house, the walls echoed quietly with papers shuffling until I turned on Pandora and chose my Regina Spektor station, thinking that if nothing else, I'd be entertained.  Chip tells me my music choices are so melancholy it's a wonder I don't lay down and die.  I like to think of my taste as bittersweet, emphasis on sweet.  And Ms. Spektor and her contemporaries didn't disappoint.  In fact, they soothed and calmed my irritated soul.

As I poured over invoices and receipts, a feeling of longing crept in--- a longing for more sweet, more sass, more hope, more flippy dresses viewed in late-August light, more blue skies tinged with gray clouds (my favorite kind, you are not surprised), and yes--- more music.  I welcome all of that.