Half past February and nearly a month into the semester, I find myself absentmindedly counting weeks on my calendar during meetings -- to spring break, to his graduation, to adventures still unknown. I feel the weight of emails, of impending deadlines, of next year's uncertainty. My instinct is to push through, to ignore the lunch hour and busy myself. But, instead, I took a drive to sit with a latte and watch last night's rain drop from branches above, no phone in sight. I feel and I write and I remember that the best things grow from dirt and how lovely it is to see daylight after five o'clock.
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