Tears, but the good kind

I woke this morning to the birds calling and whistling in the high trees outside and in the garden, the light streaming through the window, the air cool and damp after last night’s thunderstorm. You don’t hear birds much, in Toronto, certainly not at this time of year, not even in summer. I am here, I think, lying in bed, listening, and somehow I feel lighter, and looser, calmer, at one with myself and with my surroundings. It is good to be home.

I was met last night at the airport by Eve and Shaun, and my grandson Joshua: I bent over to greet him, and took his tiny hand, and kissed him, and the tears welled up, not only in my eyes but in Eve’s eyes too, as little Josh smiled up at us and gurgled happily.  ‘You’ve made my glasses steam up,’ I complained to Eve. ‘You’ve made my makeup run,’ she responded. We hugged and laughed.

More hugs and laughter when we arrived at Kathy and Gareth’s, even though it was almost midnight by then and everyone was tired.

Tears indeed, but of the good kind.