In today's oppressively early summer heat I took a long drive by the coast to clear my mind and maybe find an ocean breeze.

The light slowly dawns as trees are silhouetted against the morning sky. First, it is a black on white kind of scene, but increasingly the color comes into focus and outside my window our cherry tree is standing.

I found a tiny seashell yesterday in the warm March sand; I was so surprised to see it at the water’s edge. I expect mussels to have both shells attached, but this was a perfectly formed white shell resting with its twin protective casing ajar; open and unafraid. I am neither.

Carrying and caring. How we do this deeply defines the way we live in this broken and hurting world where 500,000 people have died in less than a year in the US.

I could sure use a new canvas about now, how about you? I need a fresh perspective on nearly all that is around me.

What if we imaged our life like a book? We are given the pages, the pen, and the ink. Recently I met a woman who told me the story of her daughter creating “elephant stories,” narratives that are impossible to believe and not grounded at all.