Because in February the days were really getting longer and you could see it, if you really looked. You could see how at the end of each day the world seemed cracked open and the extra light made its way across the stark trees, and promised. It promised, that light, and what a thing that was.

Elizabeth Strout, Olive, Again (Olive Kitteridge, #2)

After picking up Chia’s keepsakes, I stopped at a park near her vet — a quiet place, full of soft November light. A small moment there reminded me that love doesn’t disappear; it just changes shape.

Chia — my constant, my quiet. She left us this fall, and the house hasn’t felt the same since. I’m not ready to write about it fully yet, but I wanted to mark it here.

Three sets of keys on the wall tell a story of trust, friendship, and the village we build through everyday acts of care. A reflection by Ashley L. Duffus.