Dear Reader,
I underestimated the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley grounds.
What I expected to be a simple walk became five quiet miles—contained, yet expansive. I brought audiobooks and music...but I didn’t use any of it.
I walked in silence.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I was grieving.
My two Bernese Mountain Dogs, who would have loved that trail.
My uncle—my godfather—who used to keep me company (by phone) on morning walks.
My coworkers, my work, a version of my life that no longer exists.
And still, life unfolded around me.
Ducklings trailing their mother. Trees in bloom.
On the way home, a pregnant cow wandering down the road.
Life insisting on itself—everywhere.
I’ve never loved spring, even though so many people do. It feels like the end of something I want to hold onto—the quiet of winter, the feeling of being tucked in and bundled up.
This year, the contrast feels sharper.
Renewal alongside loss.
Beauty alongside absence.
Maybe the practice right now isn’t to move past it—
but to stay a little longer.
I shared a shorter version of this on Instagram this morning and asked:
What restorative yoga poses help you stay?
If you’re feeling something similar, you’re warmly invited to practice with me.
