She was 10 years old the night I first heard her. I was in a tree outside of her bedroom window. I heard her whispering.

When the earth feels raw and shaky underneath your feet…

I'm almost 30 years old. I'm getting tired. My wings ache after a few minutes of swooshing and hunting. 

My conversations with God start before my feet hit the floor in the morning. Most times, before I even open my eyes. I am a person that prays, a lot.

Here it is, day one hundred. I've sorted through some of the sketches and pieces I have written. I like some of them. I think there might even be a few essays that have enough substance to be expanded on, finessed, molded into a more significant piece of writing. That was the intent, so this makes me happy.

My Father cleaned the basement
and exposed an accidental time capsule.

Summer.

Day one is off to an impressive start.

The sky is blue.

I don't remember how long it took my Dad to replace the phone he threw out the front door or for how long we tiptoed around him and avoided direct eye contact.

That's it. February of 2019 is over. Every year, for as long as I can remember, I embrace February 1st with considerable optimism. 

I planted an Amaryllis bulb New Years Day. This past week I've watched it start to bloom. This morning, on Valentines Day, it's all the way open, and its bright red petals are spectacular.