What Texas is like in the spring-almost-summer. Sunlight filtering through the trees (all green everything) at 6pm. Handsome-ish men sweating through tank tops doing lawn work and spraying down their huge Ford trucks with the hose, all tanned and domestic-like. Toddler-sized bicycles abandoned for the evening after dinner is served. Families taking walks together in the evening breeze. Sounds of kids practicing piano and smells of casserole wafting from the houses with green fertilized grass. My mother’s front lawn garden afire with her well-cared-for hodgepodge of flowers and plants. Long, long shadows that stretch forever and the lazy southern heat that inspires the drinking of iced tea and the writing of twangy country songs.

I used to be embarrassed that our front lawn didn’t look like anyone else’s. Now I love hiding out in the midst of all the different plants, all with such personality. I love the smell of jasmine and roses, and remnants of my mother’s love scattered all over them.

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Last night, I spent the evening watching the sunset on a friend’s rooftop downtown.

We drank water out of mugs and ate leftover family meal from her restaurant (the person who made the food indicated that it is what Mexican cooks eat in the steamy kitchens after making mole poblano for the customers- it tasted like spicy Taiwanese niu rou mian). After talking and crying and listening/dancing to Beyonce in her living room, we went to find some whisky (like good Texan girls do).

It was a good night.

This morning, I awoke (way too early) to foggy April showers on Easter. Such tranquility, such green.

I don’t mind being unable to sleep in. I love to approach early mornings with gratitude. An opportunity to move slowly into the day, a reminder that every moment (even if foggy or rainy) can be treated with possibility and mindfulness.

I made myself tea, sat down in front of the windows allowing grey sunlight to come in, and contemplated a text message from a friend (received at 2AM this morning).

“And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through… You won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

– Haruki Murakami