The chestnuts are dropping from the trees. I visit the park daily, often twice, to search for them. Not a day goes by that I do not see the same three people doing as I am, making slow rounds, eyes moving carefully, slowly. I have seen people hit the branches as if to hurry the Mother Nature. The truth is, you must wait. The chestnut falls when ready and not a moment sooner. So we walk, feet shuffling, searching among the fallen leaves and spiky pods for the warm brown jewel. And then we’ll hear it…the deep thud as the chestnut hits the ground. Every time it is a golden surprise. I fill the pockets of my apron as Luka runs and chases squirrels. I have lived for 42 years and yet it is as if I have just woken up and discovered a new season, a new ritual. There is sacredness here and I am living it.