Sometimes a single sentence overheard in an ordinary moment keeps tumbling through your mind long after you've walked away.

The color wasn't wrong. It just wasn't quite me.

I spent a surprising amount of time trying to define something that had already named itself.

The picture was adorable. The only problem was that it wasn't a mule.

Slowly, sometimes more slowly than I wanted, I kept circling back to the same truths. The same interests. The same longings. The same evidence.

When our beloved cat, Tigger, died, each of us approached grief in our own way. What happened next had us laughing through our tears.

While walking a labyrinth during our Begin Again season, a simple thought stopped me in my tracks.

The vision existed before the vocabulary.

I went to price a new phone. It turned out to be one of the most consequential errands of my life.

The first two letters I received back came from women I met in college nearly thirty years ago. Somehow, they still knew exactly who they were writing to.

For more than twenty years, something traveled with me from home to home before I finally recognized it for what it was.

After writing eighteen letters, I finally received my first reply.

A roadrunner appeared first. A hummingbird followed close behind. I couldn't stop thinking about the order of their arrival.

A mug. A sleeping cat. A few ordinary photographs. It was enough to stop me in my tracks.