My dad pointed out the window of a plane once and said, 'Look at that. Remember it.' I was nine. I was bored. I looked anyway. It was a valley like this one, green on green, a river running through it like a piece of string somebody dropped. He loved small planes and bad coffee and the hour before landing. He's been gone six years and I still look for valleys from the air. I think he knew I'd need something to look for. The trees down there don't know anything about grief. They just keep growing, season after season, holding the river in place. I like that. The world going on, unbothered, is its own kind of comfort. I took this photo last week and for a second I was nine again, forehead against cold glass, somebody patient beside me pointing. He never explained what he wanted me to remember. Maybe it was this. Maybe it was him. Maybe both. I hope somebody is pointing out a window for you. If not, be the one who points. Some lessons arrive sideways, through a window, years late. #aerialview #forestvalley #remembering
