I feel selfish in my sadness as I realize, slowly, that she is the last person in my life who knows my stories from the past thirty years.

Our ability to choose hangs taut in the balance, a knife’s edge of informed intention and childlike “just make it go away” terror.

If you’ve not had the opportunity to observe any animal showing it’s offspring how to survive, you’re in for a treat and may never watch TV again.

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.