For the past three and a half years, I spent Sunday mornings with Naomi, having church while sitting in comfortable chairs, drinking tea.
Sunday mornings without her have been unrelentingly difficult.
I have found some solace by pulling on my boots and layering on a wool sweater and heading to the trees and the river and the songs of a few brave birds.
This reminds me of a wall hanging in my parents’ house. It says “If the river did not have rocks, it could not make a song.”
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