Snapping Out of the Blues

Just months after my brush with deportation, I was driving in upstate New York in the fall. The leaves on the trees were turning, and the colors were dazzling. The ground was a thick plush carpet of vibrant colors. The leaves were lazily floating on bodies of water, even small puddles. Every leaf I picked up was different and yet a masterpiece.

It was as if I had stepped into an art gallery. There were masterpieces for hundreds and hundreds of miles, in whichever direction I turned my eyes. Each winding road led to a still more striking mountain of colors. One could not see all the beauty in a hundred lifetimes.

I had never seen such a display in my life.

The colors spoke to me. The language was familiar, as if it were my native tongue. What was being said was unimportant. The mere fact that I could hear it was priceless. I felt enveloped by beauty. I was in the lap of love.

I have no idea if I snapped out of the blues, or if they just slithered away. But somewhere in my dream, the movie had changed from a dark horror show to a multi-colored musical. There was something powerful in the air. I sang loudly in the privacy of my car. I shouted, “I love you!” at every passing car. I danced a jig amid those beautiful trees.

I was a warrior who was now ready to jump into the next battle. I was a lover who was ready for the next dance.

Life was ready and waiting.