Here.

Now acutely aware of the connection and noise. Missing the roosters.

But I’m not as angry with myself this morning. I can grant myself some grace. I can make different choices.

I skip the grocery store and drive down to the market stand instead. I fill brown paper bags with tomatoes, squash, and green beans. I think of the green bean salad with anchovy vinaigrette and sweet cherry tomatoes that we had at the hotel.

I can either lean into or away from my own kind of magic.

Bird song. Loud. Thuds of nectarines dropping from the tree. The sound of the sliding door opening and closing for questions that don’t really need answers.

The smell of roasted garlic.

Not a dresser but a bookcase.

We are wild vines.

Finally feeling more like myself.