I. This blog is written in bed. Always. A bed that isn’t only bed but home, table, sanctuary and world. It is written on a small phone set on dark mode, night shift and Do Not Disturb. It is written by feel and hope. Eyes glancing the screen every other paragraph trying desperately to stretch the minutes left before the timer buzzes; ability dripping away. It is written with thankful hands that remember home keys as really home. With fingers that flutter across a folding travel wireless keyboard often lost at the foot of the bed. This is written by a rock in the river. Glinting and seemingly at ease.…