Charlie and I walk for a long morning jaunt without Suzi, who is limping. Sadly, we leave her behind after taking her for just a short loop. But then we are really free to roam, so we cross the trestle bridge, go through the meadow and off into the trail from Hospital Road. There's a lovely, fresh breeze and some new blooms by the river in full sun: my first sighting of Queen Anne's Lace of the season, and  Black Eyed Susan too. I am cheerfully encouraged, even if I'm daunted: my essay draft excerpt, shared with my Monday night group was well received, and some excellent comments I'm eager to address. But, what am I thinking? What am I getting myself into, I wonder. Can I do this – can I write it into something truly worthwhile? Should I bother? Last night I dreamed I went to see a therapist, or maybe I stumbled upon her, after a long and complicated journey involving boats and a hike and a trip into unknown territory. She was waiting for me, in her private space. Ready to do therapy with me. But, was that what I was there for? She said her method required me to take off all my clothes. No way, I thought. I haven't even decided I want to be here or if I trust her! But then, I had the surprising thought: why not? Why not just get naked? I've come all this way to get here. What have I got to hide?