“Hey, don’t stress. I’m not upset.”

“You should be.”

“Like I told you, life’s too short. But I will remind you of your earlier ‘master’ comment.”

“You’re right.” He gives me a hangdog expression. “I’ve lost all privileges to call myself that.”

“Temporarily suspended. Not lost.”

“You’re too kind. OK. Ditch the flowers,” he says. “Just do what feels natural.”

I pull one of the flowers from the bunch, a red poppy, and tuck it behind my ear. Then I throw the others to the wind and watch as they scatter like confetti. Lying back, I put both arms behind my head and rest on them. Then I look up at the clouds in the sky and I smile.

“That’s perfect,” he says softly, lifting the camera back to his face.

“What does that cloud look like to you?” I ask.

“Which one?” he answers, without looking away from his camera.

I lift one arm out and point. “That big one over there.”

He stops to give it a quick glance. “I don’t know. A giant marshmallow?”

I roll my eyes. “That’s original. Have another look.”

“We’re losing the best daylight here.”

“It’ll only take you a second. Go on, indulge me.”

He sighs and stands still to give it a proper look. “A spaceship. Like an alien one. Why, what does it look like to you?”

“A heart.”

“Seriously?” He tilts his head and looks at it quizzically.

“Not like a drawing of a heart. A real one. How it looks inside of us.”

“You have a great imagination.”

“Thanks.”

“Now do you mind if I finish doing my job?”

“Be my guest.”

And while he photographs me, I watch as the cloud, just like time, moves gently on by.

Notes from Ava

(Women’s Weekly, October 23)

Open the door. Step outside. Get in your car and drive away from the city. The concrete jungle.

Smell a forest. Hug a tree. Feed a bird. Pick mushrooms. Dance in the rain. Build a snowman. Dive into a big pile of colorful autumn leaves. Swim naked in the ocean; swim anywhere you can, anytime you get the chance. If you can’t swim, learn. Walk barefoot through a paddock of wildflowers. Forage for fruit. Swing on a rope swing. Climb a mountain. Kayak across a lake. Make a snow angel. Ride a bike along a country lane. Sail a yacht across the Pacific. Grow your own vegetables. Build a sandcastle. Study the night sky, and then sleep under the stars. Climb a tree. Cook over a campfire.

Watch the sun rise.

And then watch it set.

Breathe in the splendor that is nature and never, ever take it for granted. Enjoy every moment of it, for those of us who no longer can.

Chapter Nineteen

By the time James is satisfied he has the perfect picture, the sky has started to change color, and that dream-like time between day and nightfall is upon us—when the sky goes hazy with the satisfaction of another day well done. Breathtaking in its stealth, the moment day becomes dusk is a hard moment to catch. I know because I’ve tried. It steals over you like sleep; one moment it’s not there, and the next it is all around you.