There are reasons enough to be worried. Even in my short commute the radio  jammed my head with anxieties around the recent shooting, and climate change, and dire economic predictions. Then a picture appeared on my phone from my granddaughter's first Halloween. With impeccable timing, a three word phrase came whispering.

I recognize the Voice. It is neither a reprimand, nor a debate. It floats in as a question, more for my benefit than the Asker. Even with the presence of inquisitive punctuation, the phrase is an invitation. To enjoy this moment. To let it Matter. 

It happened when Benjamin came home from his romp through the neighborhood in search of candy. He was wearing the Woody vest I made for him ten years ago, and although he has grown the garment has not. But the pull chain in the back still works, and he will recite the same ditty.

"There's a snake in my boot."

He had earlier that day come unhinged for reasons I could not fathom, and the compassionate friend who had arrived to take him on a walk waited to see if Ben would pull himself together. Which he did. I could have stewed about the awkwardness of it all, staining the sweetness of Ben walking through the door later that evening with a basket of chocolate.  He started the adventure at the house next door, and was a friendly cowboy to a couple who have themselves spent time on horses out west. He went to his favorite person's home, the one with the exciting washing machine, and she gave him a tour. And a dollar. On the next street over he went to a place he has coined "the scary house" and knocked. She told me she had four trick or treaters in all, and three of them were Ben. 

Why yes. Yes it is.