This is the spring of my inglorious trifecta: a bunion, arthritis, varicose veins. Compared to my daughter’s, my feet are stumps. Hers flex and curve, dart, propel her up the stairs, through the sprinkler, over the prickly lettuce …

Look out your window and know that the universe conspired to craft the sunrise for your morning tea, the mug clasped in hand, the light bouncing from the balcony railing. The empty seat next to you will always be filled and I will never properly thank y