Even with the grieving and tears, the hard work and the acknowledgement of pain, there are gifts in the dark work, talks in parked cars, walks in dry creek beds, jazz players dressed in black, and soon to fly.

And we leave the music, and the funeral is over, and the emotion--a love for everything--remains, and so it is time to be children again, to play.

I awoke happy, dreaming of gerbils, I awoke with love for many. I left early in the morning to send that love, and it rained on me and I got lost and walked and walked down Prickly Pear and Waterline and found my way and returned to the woods.

There were no signs, no natural wonders to share--unless a joyful flying pig on a rooftop means anything to you.