Ten years ago - on May 28, 2024 - I snapped out of the cultic group that I was tethered to for almost two decades. To celebrate, I spent this past weekend quietly, giving myself space to sleep, muse, eat simply, be in nature, and to write less than I thought I would.

Spring comes slowly in Vermont. Here, it’s “purpling time” - when the tree buds swell and change colors, autumn-style, before the leaves emerge. The rising sap swells each bud but the cold holds them in a slow unfolding of purples and reds. I savor this time of transition, especially now that the snow is mostly gone. My neighbor's woods are the birthplace of many of my letters to you. This morning was no exception when I was caught mid-step by the song of a hermit thrush. I silently finished my step and stood transfixed for several moments of splendor. She was right there, so close, but I couldn’t see her. If you have never heard her full-throated, flute-like song I hope you will someday.