Time

Millie greeted the sun with a yoga sequence (which was low on coordination, but high on respect); before showering, she took a quick walk on the beach, picked up some trash, and blessed the water for its patience. "Okay, brain, watch the time," she whispered, challenging herself to pick up the pace a bit. She took a moment after getting dressed to swoop onto the internet and throw some budgeted dollars across the globe to make sure trees were planted and the elephants were safe. "Now YOU," Millie said (with tenderness and affection) to Barbie Badapple, Resident Spitfire and Most Loyal Companion on Four Legs. "An extra special breakfast to put a little fire in that devious belly!" The problem was time (the problem was always time) - the minutes you had, the years you didn't; the way it moved too slowly and sped up without warning, too much and never enough. Millie grabbed her keys and headed off to chemotherapy, satisfied that she had done the best she could to spend her day wisely so far - sending a love letter to the world.