I had to sit on a park bench, on my way back from Mass on Sunday, until I stopped huffing and puffing. Ended up thinking about how many trees are in the neighborhood.
"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”