pie in the sky

I've been visiting my sister in Michigan for almost a week. This town, in the beginning of May, is idyllic and beautiful.

I've been having a lot of vivid dreams. Chalk it up to the late night snacks or the time difference. I've been having shopping dreams and pregnancy dreams and fake love dreams. Dreams that leave me feeling groggy in the morning and reaching for that extra dose of caffeine. My sister has tacked the FT all over the naked bedroom window to block out the light; as a result, everything is cast in a coral haze.

My sister and I kayaked along the Huron River. We pretended to be early explorers and paddled until our arms burned. We watched "A Prophet" and "City of God". We sipped sangria at a local bar and waited for the rain to stop.

My sister and I just baked a rhubarb pie. The pie is sitting on the stove. Because I've been swooping in and out of the kitchen like a hungry vulture, the pie is now missing pastry nubs. Its sweet, tangy innards are oozing free from the crust. I am hoping that my sister doesn't notice the missing portions.

I've kept one eye on the kayaking, the movie-watching, the sightseeing, and the pie-baking, but the other eye has been turned inward. I've been composing a relentless little manifesto of sorts, in my head. I've been slowly and thoughtfully turning the words around and around. It is like a puzzle. It is hard to describe. Sometimes I look at it and it seems selfish. Sometimes I look at it and it makes me feel elated or scared.

I feel like I am standing on the cusp of ______.