Anxiety is a house with no windows. There is a door, of course, and under this door is a gap.
There is no light in this house, save for what leaks in through the narrow space between the door and the floor.
The blooming daisies, the frigid layers of powder snow, the crimson and golden hues of maple and gingko leaves
The smell of earth and grass and raindrops. The feel of wet soil slowly enveloping one’s feet
The joy and music of sunshine on a clear day
The world beyond the door of the house I would not leave.