best_day tender_square yesterday, my girlfriend annaliese was in town for one day only from houston; she wanted to walk at the arb because she’d been working crazy hours as a nanny and was in dire need of a nature renewal. she moved south for her teaching career seven years ago (currently derailed by covid) and i still miss her every day. we met working at a thrift shop; annaliese was my first real friend in the states. the weather was gorgeous when we set off at noon, her and michael and i. she recounted drama-filled stories of boy trouble; she tends to attract needy guys who want to be fixed and she responds to them with gusto, but things are shifting for her. “i realize i need to let these guys go; why is it all about what i can offer to them? what are they offering to me?” i snapped pics as we moved through the main trail. as we made our way towards the meadow, she spoke about the new family she’s nannying for, and how much her working conditions had improved over the last gig she left—her previous family treated her like absolute shit. during a phone conversation we had weeks ago about the trials and tribulations she was being put through, i lost my cool: “fuck this family; you need to go.” she was hesitant about leaving before having another job lined up, even though she had savings to fall back on. a week later, things were so tenuous at the house she walked off midday and didn’t go back. “thank you for getting as angry as you did on the phone weeks ago,” she said to me. “it helped me stand up for myself in that situation.” the new kids she cares for are adorable—she played us videos and showed us pics she’s snapped over the past three weeks. the 6-month-old is named finn byrne, and a 2-year-old is sloane bowie—their parents are big music fans. “the two-year-old is an emotional terrorist,” annaliese laughed. “i’ll ask if she has to go number two, she’ll tell me no, then i’ll find her pooping her pants in the pantry.” as we approached the wildflower meadow, i mentioned that i wanted to walk a few strides ahead on my own. i typically walk that portion of the hike in silence while i do meditative breathing; i was feeling self-conscious about michael and annaliese hearing my labored, looping breaths. i moved through the sunshine and the bluestem alone and it was the first time i’ve felt truly free in years. when we reconvened at the end of the trail, annaliese joked, “michael and i wanted to debate the rules of enforced silence while we walked behind you, but we couldn’t because we had to stay silent!” i laughed with them, and thanked them for obliging me—it meant a lot. leaving the park, we waited for erin to catch up with us; she was walking over from her office a few blocks away. we were all ravenous and wanted to get lunch together. we dined on banh mi and crispy rolls from ginger deli. surprisingly, there was a single table available outside of the restaurant and we sat, the four of us, eating in the sunshine and talking about family. we were all so warm we peeled off our sweaters in mid-october. back at home, the sun invited me to settle in the backyard for reading zoe whittall’s “the spectacular” for a couple hours. i brewed a ginger tea and the fortune attached to the stringed bag read “a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.” i sat in the plastic adirondack chair with my feet up and my eyes closed, listening to the mating songs of male crickets all around me. for the fire planned that evening, i asked if erin and annaliese minded if we did a little ritual in honor of the (almost) full moon. when leah arrived, we wrote our intentions and our troubles, watched the papers shrivel up and burn to nothingness in the pit. as we stood in silence, some unseen creature moved quick through erin’s yard startling us—a cat, we’d hoped, pulling our phones out to see. i struck a chime three times to signal the close of our little ceremony. everyone seemed grateful; we all had heaviness we were eager to let go of, we all had hopes for what we wanted to attract toward us. after my evening meditation, i received a message from my favorite person to talk with and i had the opportunity to read it before getting ready for bed. my morning had begun with writing a message to them; we were digging into the present and making sense of the future. i loved that my best day was book-ended by being in touch like this—i had carried them with me through every scene i wanted to commit to memory. 211019 what's it to you? who go blather from