The Ones Who Travel With Us

On the quiet work of holding space.

Written by AMANDA CHIRUMBOLO-MILLER
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The other day, when I walked out to my car, a single leaf was already waiting on my windshield. I didn’t think much of it at first — just a leaf, resting where it happened to land.

But as I pulled onto the road, it stayed.

Through every turn.
Every stretch of speed.
Every mile between home and the studio.

It pressed itself against the glass as if it had something to say.

There was something tender about its persistence — how it held on in a place it wasn’t meant to stay, traveling with me instead of drifting with the wind.

And somewhere between the tunnels and the bridge, I found myself rooting for it.
Hoping it might make it all the way to the studio — that maybe I could place it on my altar as a reminder of whatever this moment was trying to teach me.

Read the rest of this reflection on Substack