Yesterday, walking outside alone, I breathed in the sweet scent of cedar shavings. Noticed the soft touch of sun on my cheek. The stillness of the neighborhood, the whipping call of a cardinal high in a tree, a chickadee's three-note whistle.
These are the things that will get me through this sad and desperate time. Not hopeful words, not falsely-optimistic projections, not the belief that God will protect me from tragedy and death, not imagining the things I'll do when this is over. Not even a belief that some part of me will persist after death.
Just the body reveling in nature. Just being here now.
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