Down the road at the end of our cul de sac - just a few bare footed steps away - is a garden. It starts at the edge of the fence and blooms inward and upward into most luscious fullness. 

Sometimes I get up from my desk and walk out the front door. I don't lock it, surprisingly, but wander down the narrow street without key or phone or bit of responsibility. I just walk down ... to the end of the street.

And look at the lichens growing on the rail - and listen to the bells ringing on bovine necks - and feel the wind speak to me.

And the most beautiful thing of all is that home is but half a minute away, as the bare feet pad.