I knew my guides wanted something this morning, but I did not see that coming. A friend I often walk with in the park told me this morning that she had found her neighbor Jane dead in the neighbor's home on Friday; a seventy-three year old woman seated peacefully in her armchair, natural causes, nothing dramatic. "Oh, how awful," I said while I tried not to look at the woman's spirit at Ellie's side. Jane's spirit looked like a shift of energy between rays of sunlight. Hard to describe. Jane told me, like hearing a whisper from all around, that she hadn't passed over yet because she was worried about her belongings that she had left behind. Jane had lived her entire life in that house. Her parents' belongings were still in boxes in an upstairs room and her piano, which I'm told she played beautifully, in the front room. She had no relatives of any kind. So, while Ellie, who is still dealing with the shock, told me about her late friend I silently communicated with Jane, assuring her that her friends and her vicar would take care of her belongings with respect because they loved her, that she would be missed, but that it was time for her to walk into her next sunrise. "That's a lovely thing to say," I heard, her words flitting through my mind like darting birds. "Thank you." Jane then faded into a shaft of sunlight and was gone. "I hope Jane's all right now," Ellie said worriedly. "Bit of a quiet sort she was." "I'm sure she's fine," I replied. "Us quiet sorts are often the strongest." "Aye, true enough. Campbell!" she bellowed at her slow Basset Hound taking his time. "Come on, Grumblies! Treaties!" she sang. And on we walked through the woods.