Stones... mud... stories

On the sand, I found two stones shaped like hearts, cracked and imperfect with a beauty and power only made real through a collision with the forces of the earth.

For two months, I couldn't wash the tundra mud off the boots I wore in Alaska.

I've never lived a year that felt as changed as this one.

Stories with beginnings but no end. Stories in search of an answer and a purpose.

These days, I see things differently. Or maybe I see different things. I think about choice and people and power and place. I think about joy and heartbreak. And I wonder if I can find where the real story lies. So for now, I'll return to my pens and paper to seek out the endings.

Thanks for reading along.