On generosity.

Spring, this year, has come in fits and starts. Out there barelegged one day and pinning my jacket against the cold the next.

I took the bubble tea truck’s return to its convenient downtown treat time location—right on schedule—as a sign that summer would indeed arrive, eventually, one way or another. This, despite the afternoon’s static-grey sky and the wind whipping off the water. A vague gloom that threatened to overtake the memory of, just yesterday, warmth and sun.

The person at window insisted, over my very meek objection, I’ll give you a large but pay for a small. It’s practically Big Gulp™-sized, more than I wanted and certainly more than I need. I don’t have the willpower to not finish it! I was telling someone, poking fun at my non-predicament.

I will gladly take every ounce of generosity given out to me, fill myself with it until it makes me sick.