Is there any common ground among humanity anymore?

I am overly ready for the season of laundry on the line.

I left a string of unfolding questions in the dead grass.

If I can walk past them without startling them, maybe that can be enough.

Forced pauses and stillness are good for the soul.

I am lucky to be able to pause and regather my strength. 

What does a falling tree sound like when it hits the ground here?

As I walk, I want to thank each and every leaf on the ground for the shade they gave us in July.

Mercifully, I didn’t know—no one did—what was to come.

All we can do is wait and hope that it’s enough.

Without the bustle of all things market-related, what was I to do?

Their branches reach across the walking paths to shake hands and hold on, creating long stretches of much-welcomed shade on steamy afternoon strolls.

The scent of her earthy fur lingered in the air as I stood where her hooves had just been, thanking aloud anyone within earshot.

I think my dad would be pleased to see how his investment in my education is still unfolding.

Deep within my soul and psyche is a drive to neaten things up, corral loose ends and leave a place better than I found it.

I’m tempted to shave the cats but they haven’t asked for that yet.

I don’t want to live in a museum or a storage unit, buried among the detritus of the ages.

Make a left at the first of the black walnuts and now I can no longer see anything remotely human or civilized.

Sometimes silence is the most appropriate response, perhaps accompanied by a gentle squeeze of the hand.

What divine epoxy adheres to the jagged brokenness of our life’s pieces and sticks them back together?