It was the week where stars glimmered unhindered, piercing thousands of shimmering heavenly holes into night’s black canvas, dipping like a dancer to brush the skyline, caressing jagged cliffs, tenderly putting on a boisterous display of splendor and glory. The week I lay beneath a diamond studded sky, thinking of nothing but grandeur, my mouth silenced by awe and wonder. Breathless. Drinking it all in, and drinking deeply, my parched soul softening. I awake to glassy waters reflecting droplets of 5am sun, muted pinks and golds quietly seeping into every crevice like damp watercolors on premium paper, slowly illuminated. Brighter. And brighter.

The week when open roads beckoned, mileage markers pointing me towards a new destination, simultaneously denoting an imminent adventure drawing closer and closer. Hay bales dapple fields, freight trains lumber down tracks disappearing on the horizon, looking like an art student’s sketch of vantage points.  Welcome to Utah. 55 miles to Moab. Welcome to Arizona. Lake Powell 5 miles. Lake Shore Drive. Now to find our houseboat slip. Where did those snack crackers go? In an effort to blaze toward the finish line, I neglect dinner. The sight of vast, expansive waters pump lifeblood into my heart, wearied and color waning from the year’s pandemic, instantaneously rushing with renewed vibrant hues. For the first time in 2020, I find myself breathless with marvel.

The week when days were long. I stir and awaken as the fishing boat revs before sunrise. We spend countless hours surfing the boat’s wake, leaping off jagged cliffs, plunging into deep canyon waters, the shock of cold jolting my body out of its rigid routine, beckoning me to climb higher and leap further. The week when my stomach ached from laughter- I roam wild and free. No one expects me to be a certain person here. I am Hannah. Myself. And like settling into a hammock on the back deck, I settle into relief. The masks, masquerades, forced smiles flutter to the floor.

The week when all was well with the world, social distancing forgotten, warm hugs embraced, facemasks buried at the bottom of suitcases. No phones. No emails. No constant demands, no “I need a favor” requests. Just be. Streaming rays of sun dappled the water’s surface, playing, dancing, skimming across waves with ease, glittering like thousands of jewels, warming my clammy skin. My thirsty heart breathes again.

My soul longs for dancing, and we dance. I ache to photograph beauty once again, return to a passion that once was a career, capturing a fleeting moment only to find it drifting past me along the rails of time. I take photos. A buried search for thrill and adventure effervescently work their way to my mind’s surface. We explore. We trek. Curiosity. Wonder. I watch new friendships forged before my very eyes, amazed at my life taking on new form and shape, feeling God’s hand molding my clay heart into an entirely new shape, evolving like a movie scene.

I hear laughter and music downstairs, as warm afternoon wind whips through the canopy of our houseboat’s top deck. My skin feels dry, tight, and sun-parched, yet I reach out towards water just inches away. I smell the grill, while sipping from a glass of rose boxed wine, cares of the world long forgotten. The boys are cooking fish just caught today, soon to be devoured, its freshness surpassing that of a coastal restaurant.

Upon returning to reality, in all its constrictions, restrictions, political wars, injustice, and heartache- this I know: I tasted. I saw life’s sweetness once again. I fought my way through the harsh, bitter waters of COVID, and despite swirling turmoil, now find myself submersed and riding currents of goodness. Will it last? Perhaps not. In that case, I will fight once again to embrace life’s sweetness. However many times it takes.