I’m walking and dreaming, hustling down cross streets of the Elm City. I people watch as I move, and see some drunk Elis stumbling from a dormitory, followed by a lady walking her red cat. The feline is a Maine Coon in a periwinkle-blue rain slicker, like something straight out of Dr. Seuss. 

I laugh as I pass Woolsey Hall and Yale Law School, while at the same moment I’m somehow swirling high above New Haven. Why was I always so afraid to fly? I wonder, drifting through clouds, moving over Yale’s iconic landmarks; Yale Bowl, Beinecke Library, Battell Chapel, Harkness Tower, and Payne Whitney Gym. I touch my head and feel dampness, where the foil and Miami Dolphins cap once rested. The air is mild, no more cold temperatures for a long while, I hope. I pray. I drop through clouds before I gently land on Howe, where it intersects with Broadway. I feel tipsy and raw and so alive - spring is erupting around us in this wonderfully wounded and pockmarked city.

 * * *

Everything is wet and green – shrubs, flowers bursting, tulips, daffodils, trees, too. New Haven elms, sure, but also white oak, pear, apple, cherry, maple, and beech. Dandelions slither through the cracks, evolving, spreading seed. Milkweed whirls in the breeze. Mother Nature has arrived, and there’s no stopping her until at least mid-October. 

I’m inside Courage House and there are clients, MSW’s, RN’s, MD’s, APRN’s LCSW’s, PA’s and PhD’s milling about, participating in their lives. Professionals scribble notes as kind laughter erupts behind a door. I’m resting in the living room not far from Dr. Rain. My favorite Kiwi paces, texting.