I dodge most of the puddles on the way to my car.

Most is the best I can do.

I love puddles.

 

Air that was cool for August is no less surprising, or unwelcome, on the first day of September.

I slide slacks over my sandals.

 

A fifty-year battle with procrastination dictates a stop for gas on my way to the office.

I’ll be late, and I don’t care.

It’s my birthday.

 

It is my birthday!

A smile of recognition and unexpected pride splits my face as I drive.

It’s my birthday!

The day has come, it’s finally here, and so am I.

I’m no worse for wear and remarkably better for meeting the milestone.

It’s done.

 

I didn’t expect the pride, the relief.

And, I revel in it.

Free, to be…