I am honored to say I got to be fellow intern with this beautiful person at The Covering House. She is supremely awesome and I hope you read her blog on the regular. That’s all.
Snow and vacation has left me wide open. On train station platforms and in grocery lines, I’m talkative. I meet a man from Florissant in the snow of the metro stop at Lambert Airport, a woman from Atlanta in between Civic Center and Union Station after work, a woman in Schnucks, a man under the heat lamps beside the Stadium. They tell me about their flat tires, doctor’s appointments, missed trains, how they’ve encountered the world with its snow and spillage, and I tell them about slippery stairs and soul food. Without actively prompting it, conversation blurs around me, engages me, and leaves me encouraged, reaffirmed, as if all I could know of joy is contained in one feeling: connectedness.
When I leave my practicum on Thursday, it does not take long for a woman to bustle onto the metro and I clear my bag for her to sit beside…
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