A Christmas colored blend of peppers sizzled in the pan as I waited for my neighbor to come pick up their laundry. Their pipes had burst during the winter storm the previous week and I had escaped with intact lines.

Nina Simone trailed off in the background as I felt the world tumble out from under me.

An outstretched hand from the past waved hello and I waved back.

There are people in our lives that straddle the line between this reality and others. People who are “thin places.” If you’ve ever met one— or are one— you know.

So, when I called out a name I hadn’t used in years— and felt anguish turn to joy— I thanked whenever impulse propelled them briefly back into my life.

I didn’t sleep that night until the moon started to creep out of the sky— the questions in my mind rattled louder than my windows during a typhoon.

But the winds calmed— as they do. And away they went— like trailing lyrics to an old song you’d forgotten you loved. A melody that plays between the fluttering of sleepy eyes and waiting dreams.