The house is a mess, Alder is in tears half the time; I think we must be moving. We fill boxes tripping over toys that we can’t pack and let A watch movies when he wants, his version of hiding away. We all talk about “When we are in Denver we will ____”

I keep by my side a book to get through this words to keep me going.

Sabbaths, by Wendell Berry. In moments of stalling I open the book and find a sense of peace that sustains me through the next box or shelf.

Who do you reach for when life is too much in the details?

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