Life it’s mundane self. This morning, in the dark, I fed the cats, rolled the trash can to the curb, and walked around looking at the trees.

I had a dream last night. It featured my wife. It was a short. She showed up at an event of an indeterminate nature. I asked how in the world she got there, since I thought she was in a memory care facility.

I started down a path this morning with my writing, but about a paragraph in I stopped and turned around. I deleted those words, and even shut off the computer.

I had a thrill this morning. I’m on the road. Woke up as I usually do at 5:30. Jumped out of bed, turned on the light, and opened my computer bag. No laptop.

There was a second big storm yesterday. This one brought hail and rain. My son and I pulled our vehicles under the carport and watched the ice fall.

A terrific storm banged and rattled the house last night. There was thunder, there was lightning, there was wind. There was very little rain.

I mowed yesterday. Mostly from force of habit. No rain means no grass to speak of, only the little weedy plants and they’re not that tall.

I got a call yesterday. It was Matt from Strait Music. A guitar I wanted to check out had arrived. I’d forgotten all about it. Because the interest in the guitar was expressed in September of 2020.

I’m going to talk about the pattern I’ve seen as I dealt with my wife’s death in August 2020 and how it came about. This isn’t a road map. This is my journey.

Life is full of patterns that are self-similar across different scales.