Exit Through the Gift Shop

This morning’s group session at the Callanish cancer retreat began with each of us sharing how we felt about it being the last day. I didn’t want to offer any concluding remarks—they would have sounded too terminal.

Instead, I said:

“On the way from the lodge, by the creek, there’s a patch of red, flaming leaves standing out against the green grass. As I passed by, I thought I’d like to gather them and bring them home, to scatter around like rose petals—since I don’t think the gift shop [ed: there isn’t one] has anything Sheryl would like.”