An old concept: I am walking on grass and dirt. The earth is warm and I can feel it breathing beneath my feet, as if there is a small bead of hope buried beneath the wild tufts of grass. This place is beautiful, a very soft and quiet type of beautiful that most people take for granted, and the field has bundles of flowers growing on its edges and there is a sand pit off to one side covered with ghost-like remnants of footprints and the occasional set of tiny paws. I am well. I am tired and full of scattered thoughts and heavy with naive empathy, but I am well, and things are fine. The earth knows that. I am not afraid to repeat the phrase life is beautiful.
Someday. (And someday I’ll stop feeling sentimental and shmaltzy. Alas, today is not someday).