With so much time at home this past year, I've developed an even greater reverence for what surrounds me. It's the space that holds it all, my memories and my unfolding experience. Every minute of every day it makes the space for me to live into.

It’s tiny but this modest little balcony is everything to me.

The older I get, the more I realise that life consists of repeatedly losing sight of myself and finding my way back, sometimes deliberately often seemingly by chance.

Maybe it's a symptom of growing older and understanding the impermanence of life that I'm struggling more and more with letting go and with the feeling that I still have unfinished business.