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?

Hundreds of thousands of people with whom we share this planet work much harder than I do, no matter what my aching knees say.

Prioritizing one’s life is a complex load to carry and it doesn’t help that the baggage keeps shifting around.

Mystery lives alongside the evidence-based here and we’re left with endless options that include trying to figure it out and sitting silently at its feet.

I cannot begin to imagine how that grand exit might look (there are so many scenarios, from outrageous to frighteningly plausible) so I simply don’t.

Back at home, scarves and fleece-lined boots will stay put for now by the door.