The sun descends upon the horizon, swallowing itself into an ocean of waters. Before it disappears completely, I hear it say, “Until tomorrow, my beloved.” The waters whisper back with sea-spray and salt, reminding me of the smell of tears.

I turn to leave from the lake. A sudden gust of wind kicks up dirt before me, and I close my eyes. “It’s time for us to play, sweet one,” the air whispers to the earth, settling it down on the leaf-carpeted forest floor before sending it into the air again. The frivolity of it all makes my heart feel heavy.

I leave them to their games, these silly elements, and rush through the trees to emerge in the parking lot, where I left my husband, my daughter, and the car.

Only, I find nothing there, only an empty lot, and the silence is defeaning. Maybe the therapist was wrong. Maybe a nature retreat wasn’t the best idea, after all.