The scent of rain through an open window, and I am calmed. There is a tree blooming in my backyard, and there is chocolate, and dried roses, and a piece of quartz that nestles in my pocket: things are okay. No matter that there is also a paper due, a friendship foundering, human rights eroding, depression lurking, a world collapsing all around. A tree blooms in my backyard, the kettle whistles, and there is rain. Things are okay. Things are okay. They are.