One week ago at this time Rahima breathed her last. I miss her terribly. So many things—a comb, eyeglasses, the recycling, food in the fridge, a word game, a song—remind me of her, all sounding the refrain of her physical absence. Yet I sense her spirit very much present, especially out in nature.
Today, I firmed up plans for an extended four-month stay at Woolman Hill, the nearby Quaker retreat center in a natural setting with fields and forests. I'll be staying in the Brown House. It feels right, and was something that Rahima had wanted for me. The house at 62 Haywood Street will soon go up for sale.
I'm exhausted. Tomorrow I plan a long hike in the woods to stretch my legs, clear my head and have a good cry.