I googled a way back,
then promptly got lost,
of course.

Turning,
I turned wrong again,
and then again,
7 times,
back and forth.

And across the road,
and across the river,
and up the hill,
was The Mount.

And as I climbed, it struck me,
how akin to a pilgrimage,
how like a labyrinth this journey had become.

Going back,
a different way
a different time
a different me.
Back then,
with exhaustion and gratitude,
for some respite
I trudged up that hill.
In awe, I became enchanted.
And the next day I would return
to Tim’s side;
worried, scared, exhausted, anxious, sad.

I came back looking for the sacred,
and the holy way it all felt.

And so I climbed the terraced lawn,
past the Japanese Maple,
I made my way towards the Grotto,
and I ate my oat bran bar.

Here.
So much happened here.

And I watched as he was scared,
and sad.
I comforted him,
I sat with him,
in all the dark places.

Oh, but lying in that soft duvet,
within those solid Nunnery walls,
I contemplated life,
and the unfairness of it all.

But no one seemed to care.

And when I grew weary of worry.
When it all became just too, too much.
I found you.
I found Cottonwoods,
and Oaks.
I found paths towards the future,
and paths to the past.
And I found my way.
Just so you know.