I went wandering through Zurich’s old town in search of vegan chocolate. What I found instead was a moment of warmth tucked into a tiny shop and offered freely.

Mrs. Bryan taught me to memorize paintings when I was ten. I didn’t know the map she was giving me that year would lead me, decades later, to the Rijksmuseum—and to a part of myself I had misplaced.

I judged a woman by her flaming fox sweatshirt. Then she and her mother danced circles around me—literally—and taught me a lesson I didn’t know I needed.

We thought we were just making roof tiles. What we found was stillness, kindness, and a lump of clay that became a guardian—and a memory.

We set out into the woods to find truffles. Our guide was a dog named Cowboy. He found something else instead—a long bone, possibly human. This is the story of a winter day in the Pacific Northwest, a quietly remarkable dog, and the woman who works beside him.

This isn’t quite a travelogue. It’s more like a dream I had while awake, somewhere in Coyoacán. Every word is true—just not all of it happened in the usual way.