Last summer we moved to Georgia. I wanted to run away. As soon as the buses took my kids, I ran hard toward the dark canopy of the trees near our new house. My anger matched the summer sun and my fear matched the thick humidity. I would remember my kids crying about school, getting lost on the way to the store, and all the love we left behind. I would pound that pain into the winding path. Forsaken and alone I didn’t pray anymore. But the trees sheltered me with leaves larger than my face. I would run panting across the intersecting roads to get back under their generous covering, grateful. From the very first run I felt the woods offering me friendship. I was enchanted. Ducks and dogs rushed to greet me. Shiny laughing crows teased me. Deer and sparrows tiptoed in the periphery. Spotted red mushrooms smiled. The lake sparkled. The trees were my favorite. The short one with blue flowers at her feet cheering me on at the start, the arched one reminding …