I am just back from a writer’s retreat. My last morning away, I climbed a hill and walked a labyrinth. It was snowing. There was a lake below me and woods were around me and the sun was trying to break through the clouds, but I kept my eyes on my feet. At first, I thought: this is silly, walking in a circle like this. And then later, I thought: I’m not getting anywhere at all. But finally I gave myself over to the rhythm of it. I settled into not thinking and not wondering and not worrying; I just looked down and walked. So I was surprised when I found that I had somehow arrived at the center of things. I stood there and looked down at the lake, up at the sky. It was still snowing, and on a tree stump in the heart of the labyrinth someone had carved a single word: blessings.

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