I write about grief which is like a container for many feelings of hopelessness. I am writing as if we stand on a high plateau, where grief can soar. So often, we get painted into small corners, hidden behind walls of shame, into isolation, and patronized.

The reality is we are bold to face the world with uncertainty about ourselves and each other. We feel the presence of the smooth, cool creek flowing deeper than its dimensions. The raven's caw, breaking the silence on a cold morning, feels like a welcome message. The grey skies have an inspiring grip while the rain is a healing soundscape.

It's within all these details we feel a multitude of presences; a lost dog, remnants of a friendship, a brighter version of ourselves, a half painted mural, everything we have lost to get here now.

It's harder to get lost in yourself when you carry the fragments of your memories somewhere with vast, endless scenery and breathe with confidence that you can see your winding paths.