Soft Edges

On being the recipient of grace.

I packed my sweater and heavy coat, taped the box shut and slid the package across the floor. It had come to my attention that winter was over. I had hoped for this day, as I always do when in the throngs of December, even the trees bare their ribs—protruding in ways uncomfortable, hard and obvious. For the first time in months, I allowed myself to beli…