I can hardly say how much my path has meant to me and my life with dogs, not to mention my writing life. I walked there with Pearl, Orson, Rose, Izzy, Clementine, Frieda, Lenore and now Red. And Maria, a thousand times, with Maria. The photo changes, the path does not. My dogs run free there, sniff the tracks, scents, scat and carnage of the animals out in the woods. They love the path. Whenever I am stuck writing, I go out on the path, and my head clears.

I began thinking that I would miss the path when we moved, but happily, I checked myself, and right away. Nostalgia is a trap, part of  the sad game, the pity-me game I hear so often. It is so easy to look for things to miss, to fear, to regret. I have never been into missing things, and I know myself well enough to know I will not miss the path. Or the view. Or the barns. Or my beautiful farmhouse. I will find new paths, love new rooms, build new barns. Take new photos, build new memories, write about new things, take different kinds of walks. That is who I am.

What am I taking with me? My love’ My work. My photos. Our animals. Our creative connection. I have always remember Hafiz’s caution about keeping the sad game going. It steals all your wealth. I will miss nothing, not even from this magical place. I am taking everything that is magical with me.