I I took a walk this evening trying to pay attention to each blade of grass, each scent of the roadside flower, each pollen tickling inside my nostril, each breath labored with each uphill track, each stride, each breeze cooling my face and neck, each heat rising up within my body, each nod I gave to the other walkers, each half smile I awkwardly manage as they passed by, each memory of “Oh, this is where my son/daughter ran/fell/biked/laughed/talked/sulked/cried”, each notation of “Oh, this tree/shrub is this tall now”, and each muttering of “this is now, this is now, this is now”. I took a walk in the neighborhood seeing old things as new and new things as old friends: the new pond, the old vine wrapping around the trees, the humming bird hovering above the yellow wild flowers, the little dogs, the big dogs, leashed and unleashed. This is now, this is now, this is now. I am alone save for the shades of the past and the rustling of what to come. This is what empty nest is. This is what half life span is. This is what a person who has lost so many of her moments to fearing. This is what life is about. It is full to the brim with what has been and what to be.