Spring Spring breeze blooms goosebumps. Tendrils of a Japanese fern, older than my children, push through the dirt. In the weedless lawn next door a yard sign stands. RESIST. And the coffee mugs returned to the cabinet. _______________________________________________ We’ve always liked our neighbors. The real kind of like — chats over the fence, cookies at Christmas, an easy wave. Then the sign went up. RESIST. And I felt it. Not in them.In me. I pulled back a little. Judged

This afternoon I harvested holy basil from my indoor garden and steeped it in a pot of simmering water. The steam rose slowly, fragrant and slightly sweet. I sat at the counter sipping it like this was something I’d always done. I hadn’t meant to grow a tea garden. The hydroponic system was supposed to be practical — super greens, tomatoes, cucumbers, fruit. Winter survival. A hedge against the slump that usually arrives when the light disappears and the days narrow. But some

It’s late morning and I’m sitting on the balcony of our hotel, the ocean stretched out in front of me like it has nowhere else to be. The light is sharp. The air is already thick. Everything feels startlingly clear.

A reflection on how quickly we rush to certainty—and what possibilities we might be missing in the middle.