The moon was right above and it lit up the garden enough for me to see the “girls” in the coop waiting for me to lock them up, to make them safe. It is such a ritual, every night I walk in the garden and close the door to the chicken coop. it says day is done for me. Rituals, routines, so comforting. It is something we do that is normal and expected in this sometimes not so usual universe. I see myself years from now in my garden guided by the moonlight while closing the little door to the chicken house – it connects now with then – the ritual lights the path. Of course I write these words and think of the displaced people in Japan; even the simple rituals like a morning cup of coffee are gone, rituals that would help them feel just a tiny bit better amongst the horror that is their lives. How wonderful would a cup of coffee would be for those people? I thought of that while I had an afternoon cup on my swing in the glory of early spring – a near perfect moment, a moment spent in ritual.