It was the Wednesday after Labor Day. I remember it distinctly — a day not unlike so many others before. I was finishing up after a long day at work. It was late. As is my custom, I called my husband as I drove home to let him know I was on my way. It was already dark. I was trying to concentrate on the road as I waited for him to pick up the phone. He didn’t say hello. He hesitated a moment, then simply stated, “You’ll never guess who’s here.” I knew immediately.Read More
The air was thick and wet. I could see the early morning dew permeate the sky and move sluggishly, labored and heavy, over the grass and in between the trees. My breath felt as heavy as the dew.
I almost missed the pair of wild turkeys as they meandered across the lawn in the way they always do, heading toward the pond, unaware of my presence. Unaware of time. Free from to-do’s.
The perfect red cardinals that fluttered between the two junipers anchoring the patio were not pressured by a check-list, by demands that sap the energy from their marrow. They flew effortlessly, nestled only in the constraints of the here and now.Read More
I sat and listened to him fill in the missing puzzle pieces of his life. With each story, a mixture of joy and pain. There is the distinct realization that in every event, every experience, we were missing.Read More