Misc. Thoughts: August 18, 2012
I found the letters you wrote to me. I didn’t read them; I remember them well enough. I wrapped them in a ribbon and put them in the back of a drawer. I wish you would write again. Not for me, but for others to know your gift. I am glad you are happy these days. I am glad you are well again.
There is a little girl walking her dog down the street. He is twice her size, but she pulls him along as though she is giant, filled with fantastic purpose. She talks to the dog as though he speaks English. Her hair is mussed; her clothes do not match. She has a feather in her hair. She is sassy; she is funny and unashamed. What is a “spirit animal”? I think she is mine.
It is gloomy outside. I fear it is somehow my fault.
Every day I stumble, pick myself back up, dust myself off, and try again. These waters are murky and flood my hopes, but never enough to drown them. Life goes on.