Rain has buried most of the scattered snow islands, giving the wild thyme a drink and encouragement to grow. There’s still snow on the mountains, creating the fog rising over Route 7 – a ribbon of mist that marks and obscures the highway all at once. With the drumming of the rain on the roof and the cover of mist on the road, I have no idea how many people are on the road, what they are driving, or which direction they find themselves going. I acknowledge the mystery that I see, but my recognition of it doesn’t give me any insight into what is behind the veil. Unless I travel the road myself, or someone gets off at my exit and tells traveling tales, I’ll never get beyond knowing that there’s a mystery in my backyard.

Where are you going? What wonder, grief, and joy accompany you? Who has loved you, and whom have you loved long and well? Do you know how precious and unique you are – and how that’s true for every living thing?

If there’s any chance of catching a glimpse of what’s behind the veil, it’ll come through just such questions. All that’s required of me is a listening ear, time, and hospitality – and, perhaps, a willingness to share my own life’s travel tales.

Loving what matters: The mystery of the here and now – and a glimpse behind the veil.

Letting go of what doesn’t: The worry that there’s nothing behind the veil.