The words came back. Floating around my mind, a phrase repeats itself here and there and I remember what it felt like to have words. To need to write. To create. To dream a little. They feel wispy still, as though they’ll be erased or disintegrate if I don’t open my laptop immediately to capture them.

I’m reminded of the word “margin” and wonder how important it is for artists to have it. There’s another word. “Artist.” I’m not meaning to be pretentious by using it, but I could tiptoe around the term and would still mean the same thing by it. Back to margin though. I wonder if having space in my life means that words have reentered my world. I wasn’t even aware they had gone and now suddenly I’ve missed them for the last ten months or so. Words! My friends!

My eyelids have gotten heavy, reminding me that siesta time is near. A well-worn ritual of my days, the afternoon nap—or if not nap, then at the very least a napping posture for reading—is here and as I walk upstairs to announce quiet time, I see my daughter in her room. Sent there to clean it, she’s about halfway done with the daunting task. I’m proud for even that half is hard to do sometimes. Laundry, toys and art supplies have been arranged in puddle shapes around her room and she, like her mom years before, is distracted by something at the moment. She’s digging in a bag of markers, desperate for black. When I finally announce quiet time, she is filling a sheet of notebook paper with blue crayon. Long blue scratchy lines are perpendicular to the perfect college-rule notebook lines. She’s happy for a kiss. I’m now glad I didn’t offer the double-stuff Oreos squirreled away in the pantry because she’s content with a mom kiss, the color blue and an hour to create stretched before her.

I suspect that it’s margin that invited words to come back into my head once more. I’ve found room in days this summer, open spaces on my calendar. I’m staying up late with my husband the night-owl and sleeping in late with an 11 year old who loves to do the same. I’m reading and reading and reading and that alone feels incredible. With no vacation yet on the books, I’ve staycating and giving myself permission to enjoy summer. It’s taken weeks and weeks since our foster baby left for me to give myself that permission. And while it still feels awkward to not know what’s next for me to do in the big picture, today words are my gift. And I welcome them.