The other day I was walking on a path near my house. We’ve had good rain and the olive groves are so green. Purple anemones turn their petals to the sun, calibrating its precise whereabouts in the winter sky. Flowers know things that we do not.

I began the walk in a state of grief. Lately I am keenly aware of being on the blank page between chapters. The old one is done and dusted, but the fresh ink of new words is not yet wet. I was worrying about the things I worry about. Even after all this time, despite all this meditation, my sweet grasping mind clings to these old familiar beads.

Then I looked up. A fox sauntered my way, happily sniffing the earth, his wild beauty instantly dispelling my clouds.

Seeing me, he hurried off, magnificent tail waving behind him.

Later I followed a small animal trail to a secret glade and saw how the tall grass was bent where something had slept. I could hear the fox barking from up on the mountain. Hawks circled overhead.

I felt immense gratitude. For the majesty of the land itself, holding these creatures, cradling this life, whether we witness it or not. Birds lifting in sudden flight with a whoosh of wings, all the grass and green herbs growing, lichen inching along rocks, velvet moss softening the in-between spaces. This is where we live. Home.

Such solid, solid ground.

To see this place, this home, transfigured by everyday splendor is to know that this path is completely trustworthy. However rocky, overgrown, or threaded with spider webs, it will hold us. We can love it with our whole heart, and it will take us where we want to go.

These are the first words of the new chapter, inscribed in sunlight onto our bones. We will write it together.

Happy New Year.

XO Jean

PS: I wish I had taken this lovely photo, but Nathan Anderson did.

Jean Shields Fleming is the founder & editor-in-chief of Certain Age, a Substack top 100 publication. Her novel Air Burial was published by Carrol & Graf, and you can read an excerpt from her latest novel, All The Reasons Why.