Here’s how I know

Here's how I know I am loved. This morning I woke in my own bed, to the smell of coffee I did not brew. When I went to my office to rearrange my altar for today's Equinox, I joyfully rediscovered that nearly every object has been gifted to me by someone dear. Or, perhaps, by the sea and sand.

Here's how I know that somewhere beyond the wrenching news on TV, the universe is benevolent. This morning there was one ripe fig on the tree that the squirrels had not yet nibbled. There was a purple bloom of borage not yet withered in the cold. There was enough time to make French toast with a fresh egg, and to brew a second cup of coffee.

Here's how I know I will be all right, despite the feeling of winter looming over my mood. I can notice the love and beauty and wonder of it all. I know I am living in a time that is complicated and hard and brutal. And yet. The flowers bloom and the trees fruit and the squirrels bury nuts where I wish I could grow radishes.

Here's how I know that the world will go on, with or without me in it. __