A quiet morning unfolds through a single pink flower, birds facing the rising sun, and dewdrops balanced on a nearly invisible string—each revealing the wonder and possibility waiting for us when we choose to truly see.

On an ordinary morning, waiting for the sun to rise, a quiet observation of birds, wishes, and a weathered turkey wishbone unfolds into a meditation on motherhood, grief, and hope. Sometimes the smallest rituals reveal the deepest truths, reminding us that love has a way of carrying our wishes long after we're gone.

A List

Espresso. Journal. Pen. A walk through the garden. A whispered "good morning" to the spiders. A cucumber ready to pick.

And then, without warning, a mourning dove flies overhead, a memory of my father returns, and an ordinary morning becomes something sacred.

This entry is about paying attention—to the garden, to grief, to love, and to the quiet whispers that often arrive when we least expect them.

It began as a simple reminder in my journal: Tell M.E. about seeing her son.

During Mass, a stranger seated near the altar caught my attention. His dark hair, thick eyebrows, and quiet presence stirred a memory that felt more like recognition than coincidence. As I reflected on the mystery of the Communion of Saints, I was reminded that love doesn't end with death, and sometimes grace arrives in the most ordinary faces.