I have something for you to do. a practice in slow living, in sweet living, and a practice to nurture your writing, too. find a street in your town that you can comfortably walk down. somewhere close to home, maybe, that feels familiar on the bottom of your shoes. now, walk a while, and notice. notice the things you've never noticed before. the small ones. the details. inhale. exhale. breathe through the desire to retreat into your mind, or your phone. now, turn around, and walk the same path again. notice more. the way rosemary bushes pour like water over the rim of a concrete wall. the scabs on a brick building where vines once held fiercely. a cat's two footprints in old cement. walk again, and again, down the same road, unfolding the layers around you, shaking off the dust, gently loosening your habitual thought patterns like an old pair of shoes. when you get home, write stories about the things you noticed. and then, with softened eyes, try to practice the same mindfulness with your heart, with your home, with your loved ones. you are enveloped by so much beauty, sweet love. you only have to notice.