I feel like the trampled pink plumerias browning on the shaded path to the carriage house. I can't believe that for the first time one tear has just slid from my left eye behind my sunglasses, down my face, and right toward my heart. I had not been proclaiming this a crying matter. This fly of a tear. Irritating me -- stop stop stop-- I say before it's too late. But I don't brush it away because I have never known a single heart tear before, and because of that I know it's something sacred. I let my skin and my grey sweater soak it up. It jiggles my heart and I scold myself.