Grace

One morning (this morning,) a black car runs a red. Surges into the intersection. And just like that, coming home from a lab test, we are on a collision course. There’s oatmeal waiting at home. Oatmeal with raisins, cashews, shredded coconut and a dusting of cinnamon from Ceylon. The car is moving fast, time is moving slow. I call to my husband in a voice that is urgent and soft. Not unlike the voice I use when pointing out mourning doves in the garden. He brakes, the car sails past. The driver does not see what he just missed.

Our lives.

We are almost home. The sidewalks are sunny and quiet. The leaves on the trees, so green. Nothing has changed. Everything is different.

And breakfast is a benediction.