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The leaves. The air always smelled good then. The stained deck. The maple trees. Climb them until you find a nice place to sit. The past floats as your shadow. The past sinks into you. Or you could say it did sink, some time ago. The patchy grass. The smell of leaves. The rubber boots – and the smell of rain.

The end is only the beginning of how you will interpret this life. Everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve done, everywhere you’ve been. They are all colors on your palate. Make them harmonious.

Do not long for the past. If the past seems like a dark time, realize that one moves forward, not backward, and ghosts of the past are but pieces of memory and do not represent current reality. There is only forward. Pick up the pace – or at least walk comfortably.