1. I bought new sheets before I left town and they were totally worth it.

2. Breakfast today is whatever they can make themselves. Again. Because I'm still returning and my brain is working just enough for me to make it through the morning. Plus we're out of coffee and I'm thinking it's time to take a break.

3. For just a moment, the snow globe feeling makes me feel a bit like a child. But then the cold smacks against the face and I am brough back down to earth.

4. I stop and buy a few bunches of daffodils. I think back to a part in the book where he talks about cultivating a garden that seemed to constantly be in bloom. I think about the kind of attention and planning that it would require. Maybe this year I'll plant some bulbs. 

5. I drink 3 cups of coffee, each one splashed with a tiny bit of almond milk. I eat three too many pieces of butter fudge while we listen to one another. 

6. I hate that I don't have any answers. 

7. The honk of geese overhead.

8. I pick the leaves off but keep the stems of sage to propogate. I know he will say something about this. 

9. But maybe the way to staying grounded is through playing in the earth. I am still pretty certain that this kind of play is what will root me. 

10. He asks me what I plan to do with the stems of sage. I tell him I'm going to propogate. He tells me I shouldn't bother. I tell him that I'm going to continue to live.