there were none.
I’m standing on the front porch as the day completes itself.
The sun is setting over a field fresh with young wildflowers and high, lovely hay-grass that will grow tall and be mowed mid-summer.
It smells so good; nearly, but not quite as good as freshly turned earth in early Spring.
The soon-to-be full moon will shortly rise over budding trees freed from their winter solitude.
After this night, changes will come.
I am uncertain of the changes, but am trying to make myself ready for what will happen in my brain.
How odd this must sound.
I have things I must contend with that will very likely alter the way I see everything, including the moon.
It has been a difficult decision to make; this knowing that the way my brain perceives things and people and emotions will change.
I am only what I am, and if I cannot be what I am then I could very possibly be what I have always feared.
I have dear friends who are angry with me, who have not forgiven me for things I was not aware of.
While that hurts me now, next week it will likely be irrelevant.
There is a better then average chance then I will not remember that.
A curse more than a blessing for I am sorry but may not recall my remorse.
I sacrifice one madness for another.
Where, I ask, is the sanity in that?
This night, my last night without the influence of medication, I watch for the moon and hope, that when the lightning bugs come, I will be happy to see them.
I have always found joy in the lightning bugs.
For the first time I can recall, I am not an optimist.
That, in itself, frightens me.
And I dislike being afraid nearly as much as I dislike knowing I am potentially sacrificing my identity.
I suppose I am, after all, a coward.
My niece, unafraid