In front of a small moss-covered oji statue next to the shrine, I place a flower I’ve found along the trail and carried for miles. After gazing at the weathered face for a while, I close my eyes and press my palms together, wishing for the pieces of my life to find their place. Then something jostles my eyes open, the face of the Buddha remains the same and slightly smiling. All at once, I realize how silly it is to wish for something that’s already happening –– everything in life eventually falls into place. I squeeze my hands closer together.