Strange how the world can juxtapose beauty and anger.

I spent Sunday night and Monday with a close friend whose life self-destructed when her significant other walked out on her, out of the blue. And yesterday, I couldn�t help but appreciate the beauty of the world around me, and in other people. I drove my husband to work for seven-thirty in the morning and I took the river road all the way home from the West Island, and it was glorious. I really don�t think it was relief that my problems paled in comparison to hers. Something was alight in my heart, though, and I loved everything and everyone I saw. Even spending time in traffic was enjoyable, somehow. It was good to be alive.

I love my circle of friends for their united support, their immediate defence of the wronged soul. You can almost see the ranks closing around her, bristling with righteous anger, keeping the world at bay until she has recovered her equilibrium. We may find it difficult to get together to kick back and relax, but in a crisis, see how priorities are rescheduled, how friends rise to the top. We drop everything to help one another. It�s been a while since something like this has happened (which is a good thing, I suppose), and I�ve almost forgotten how fierce we can be.

I�ve touched base today with a couple of people, including our wounded comrade, who is shaky but slowly rooting herself in reality once again. We�re all going out on limbs, taking leaps of faith, knowing that we�re a support group, a web of encouragement and love and laughter and shoulders to cry on. I woke up this morning and thought about how much I was looking forward to writing again. I played with my kitten. I�ve curled up in the sun and read half a book.

Today, too, it is good to be alive.