I had plans to continue basking in the honey-amber sunlight spreading across my body, quietly mark the two-year anniversary of my dad's death.
But I couldn't.
I couldn't let the day pass silently, unwritten and unfolded.
I couldn't help but tattoo in printed fashion how the sunshine is a glorious contrast to the sunshine I remember of two years ago today.
How not even full force rays could warm my skin from the cold, whipping wind outside the chilled grays and pinks of hospital beds and waiting rooms.
How that day was positively the coldest late-April day I could ever remember.
How I was glad for its chill so I could wrap numb myself up and wrap myself into some sort of blanket-cocoon and hibernate away what must have been a bad fading winter dream.
How it gave me a reason to keep frozen what unfolded that tumultuous week, to keep solid and packed away all these sour-sweet memories of life with him.
How I needed today's sunshine to be different than the kind that flooded that day.
And how I needed it to thaw my memories, warm the emotions that have been slowly defrosting during the past two years so it could all freely been lived and flow like sap dripping from from hard maple trunks amid the heat after a long, hard winter freeze.
I just couldn't let it pass.
I just had to let the words dripdropdrip out of my thawing fingers, thawing heart.