A Night Like This

A year ago, it was a night very much like this one. The sky was clear and seemed so near that I felt that if I reached up high enough I could glide my fingers over it, and maybe polish it with a washcloth in the hope of getting the smattering of stars to twinkle just a little brighter. The breeze was as cold, teasing my loose hair and pasting a few wayward strands on lips that were sticky - partly from my lip balm, and partly from the sweet hot dark chocolate I was drinking to warm me up. The crowd was similar - a cacophony of groups of light-footed friends, cuddly couples and young families with heavy-lidded children. The gifted singer-guitarist on stage last year was different, however. Last year the songs were about love and heartache - my cloudy mind errantly connected them to angst and emotions so big they exploded out of me and blinded me to the joys and happy truths surrounding me. They fuelled my self-pity, and my silly heart lapped up the words and melodies and continued on it's downward spiral - encouraging it's wounds to bleed and bleed and bleed... discouraging them from healing. It was as though it didn't want to mend.

Tonight, the man on stage sings simply - of love and life and loving life. And once again my fickle heart feels a resonance to THIS gentleman's music.

On a night like this one, what feels like a long time ago, not only was the man on stage different, but so was I. Tonight we are about hope and healing and love and joy.