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Last summer, there was a time when my husband and I went canoeing. When we were out on the lake, it started to rain. Almost everyone else rowed back and left. But we listened for thunder, looked around, saw it was only rain, and stayed out on the lake. Everything was gray and green and brown. Then a heron appeared. I wanted to take a picture of it very badly for a moment. I don't know if, at least as an adult, I had ever seen a heron in person.  But I had left my phone in the car. That was safer for it (I am terrible at keeping phones working). I was getting wet, but not cold. When we eventually rowed back to shore, I wondered if I would even remember I had seen a heron. Would it be the rain that stuck with me? The way it sounded on the lake? How it looked almost silver slicking down? Would it be how excited Jon looked pointing the bird rather than the heron itself?

 In a weird way, I think I remember the heron more vividly than if I had taken a picture of it.

I'm thinking about this because it's time where I felt really safe. Whenever something awful happens, something awful caused by people, I have to think about things like this or else I anxiety-spiral out a little.

I don't really want to write much more about Orlando.  I think it's a time where I should be mostly listening and giving.