It must be the smell of smoke that rouses me though I don’t realize it at first; late May, and the forests are already burning.
I can tell it’s early—too early—but I can also tell that I won’t sleep again. So, I pray.
In light of news last night of a passing, I pray for my children who are now walking the complicated path of grief.
And I think about choices and hurt and generational muck, and legacy; how sometimes we hold tightest to things that don’t matter at all, and how sometimes the best we can do is let go.
And how life passes by in an instant.