I found a Luna Moth today while I was pumping gas. It was so beautiful and so special, I've seen maybe three in my whole life, I had to call the next guy over to come see. We stood there marveling for a minute. He was genuinely grateful I included him in a moment of wonder. He looked me in the eye and said, "thank you" before he returned to his tow truck and drove away. I gazed a moment longer, wished I could somehow take this creature with me, and left alone to finish my errands.

All afternoon I've been humming Scarborough Fair. Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme; Remember me to one who lives there, For once she was a true love of mine. Last month I read an essay a grieving mother wrote about letting go of grief. I nodded as I read, in recognition of the moment she describes so well. The moment you feel a burden or cloud you've maybe even forgotten you carry, depart.

Earlier, maybe last year, I understood that rage and grief were getting the better of me. Grief I left unremarked, there is no way to put it  down nor to carry it along, as a matter of choice. Grief chooses when and where to be carried. But rage is all our own. And I began to work directly to set rage down and  move slowly away. It took very specific force of will--I'm still working on it. Its been layered over many times since we moved back home, mostly untold.

Tell her to find me an acre of land (On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves) Parsley, sage, rosemary, & thyme (Washed is the ground with so many tears) Between the salt water and the sea strand. Its a song of my childhood, perhaps the actual sound of my innocence and good will. There has never been an age I didn't hum this song quietly and privately to myself. Always with a happy confident hope it offered some inkling of adult life--dark but soft, realistic but mysteriously hopeful. Until today, I've never seen the actual lyrics. Dark but soft, indeed. How do our psyches hone in on art we can't consciously understand?

I think maybe grief is finally gathering veils and tip toeing away. Now I can see my kitchen faucet and care. Suddenly I can think about making dinner for friends. I feel compelled to create something more cheerful, tidier, purposeful. I rearranged our living room furniture, hung artwork, considered my Grandmother's recipes. The air has changed in an invisible way. Exactly as if, perhaps, a mystic creature was here and now is gone. Or a garment I've worn with no seams, impossible to unzip, has fallen away.

Once was a true love of mine. Tell her when you see her. Impossible tasks stand between us. We have herbs, the ocean, eternal truths, mythic creatures, and hope.