In my closet, on my knees, with the door shut, praying amid piles of clothes.
On Tuesday mornings with rare, precious white space on the calendar, after my husband has left for work.
Anywhere, if I’ve left my iPhone behind.
In a warm Epsom salt bath, looking at my jar full of sand and seashells from Oceanside, while my family sleeps.
In my dad’s backyard on the old white swing, under wisteria vines.