by | Oct 3, 2020

Moss on tree branch

Eight months in, I’m living out of time. There are endless things to worry about, and almost continuous anxiety during waking hours, but very little to be done about these concerns. Other than staying home and avoiding others.

Time is unhurried, now, with plenty of opportunity for nature gazing and journal writing and barefoot walking, and grieving. Contemplating an uncertain yet probable future inspires me to bask in the intricate beauty of moss.