Home too late for walking so I peddled as hard as I could and my arms worked hard, push, pull, push, pull.

The garage was dark and the airdyne was rusty.

I was hissy fit angry over something someone said and my litany of why was wasted on my husband.

Podcast tried to school me on something, I don’t know.

I stared towards nothing

peddling and pushing and pulling.

Until the fuschia caught my eye.

The crepe myrtle puffs of bloom bursting through.

Better

and life, my life I decide is beautiful.

He makes beautiful things.

He makes beautiful things out of us.

“You better?” my husband asks as I come through the door.

“Yes, I am.”

Telling myself,

He knows.