Yesterday my friend Marlene and I walked around Lake Lagunitas, a reservoir, to come to the bench she donated in her sister Bambi’s memory. We sat and talked. We talked most of the way, with some times of silence to listen for the Pileated Woodpecker and to honor the newt crossing, currently unnecessary.

We spoke of friendship and death, complexity and simplicity, when to hold on and when to let go. We examined our part in what happens in our lives.

This morning, I look out on summer fog, feeling light, lifted, as though I dipped into the lake like grebes and ducks, sang and flitted in the reeds like Red-winged blackbirds. We were accompanied by the landscape; we were the landscape. Healing happens. My brother passed sixty-seven days ago, and today, this moment, my heart sings.