13/06/2026
Between the River and the Kittens
A year or two ago, I sat on a veranda in Taki, looking out at the Ichamati river.
Yesterday, I sat on a staircase watching a mother cat feed her kittens.
One of them decided that my shoulder was the perfect place to sit.
I have learned not to argue with kittens.
Looking at these photographs side by side, I am struck by how much has changed, and how much has not.
The river was asking me to look outward. And perhaps also beyond the here and now.
The kittens asked me to look closer. Firmly rooted in the here and now.
One offered distance and possibility, while the other offered warmth and trust.
Yet both offered peace.
I have spent a great deal of my life trying to understand people, situations, relationships, and the endless complexities of being human.
Yesterday, three tiny kittens—and one in particular who claimed my shoulder as her own—reminded me that some things are simpler than we make them.
Food. A warm shoulder. Belonging. Safety. Love.
Perhaps wisdom is not always found in grand revelations.
Perhaps sometimes it arrives as a small creature curling up against your shoulder and deciding, for reasons known only to herself, that you are her safe space.
And perhaps that is enough.
