On a mid-September morning, we took a walk along the river. It was a southwestern Pennsylvania grey day, a black and white morning, a monochromatic mind set. My worries tread on the hamster wheel of thoughts inside of my head, churning, stumbling, exhaustingly futile. In the distance, a great blue heron stands regally, barely recognizable, probably scouting his breakfast. The pup and I watch the water flow towards the city, and experience a strange vertigo for an instant, a letting go, a weightless sensation that passes quickly and momentarily knocks the worries from my mental track giving me enough time to hold onto other thoughts—the soft clouds, the bridge in the distance, the lushness of the trees, the temporary silence. I slow my breathing and pet the pup, “let’s go girl”, I say and walk gently forward.