I’ve been thinking a lot lately about things that seem like magic, even though I objectively know they are not.
The steam rising off my skin in the bath.
The sound of crunchy autumn leaves falling from the trees in our backyard. I like to picture the leaves hyping each other up, saying “Let’s go together!” to any leaf friends who are holding onto the final wisps of fall. To be fair, I do the same thing, clinging to sweaters and flannels for dear life, refusing to admit that it’s cold enough for a coat.
Every Sunday evening, I take a hot bath, as if the steam and warm water can somehow shield me from the inevitable reality of my busiest day of court, Monday. I rest my arm on the edge of the tub, pulling the shower curtain back just enough to let the light in. It feels like a hidden superpower as I watch the steam rise from my skin, droplets hanging in the air. I move my arm in a little circle, just to see the steam swirl and take on whatever shape I choose. Continue reading