I hope you're well and enjoying some summery venture, or comforting downtime. I still long for the childhood months of liberation - oh, to be a little sprout, or a Parisian, wiling away the summer months somewhere even better than Paris! Will we adults ever get that same deep rest of a kid (or a French person) on summer break? It seems that we have other duties, now that we are grown.

I have a gift for you, a piece from Ross Gay, who always inspires me to find space for the broken parts, right there among the sublime:

Life is mysterious and ever unfolding its bolts of textured fabrics to intrigue and confuse us. Even in my little garden, I could spend epochs exploring and studying all the different leaves and stems, the fluffy fancies at the tops of my grasses, the delightful transformation of blueberry blossoms to hard, green pebbles, and then to lustrous, saturated blue delicacies. With so much material right before me, it seems greedy or ungrateful to hunger for something else,