It has been. Too long. I loved this little thinking place. So much of my days were spent thinking aloud to a quiet room in many the quiet season.
The seasons are louder lately. In most ways. But I am in a house full of voices and sometimes they make it harder to call out the old me, sitting in a second story window, typing her stories and poems and wondering if she would always be solo.
She is not. She is happy and happiness is always troubled, complicated with the double-bodied woes that the days bat at us all.
But not today, today is my friend's birthday. He is off on big adventures and I hope the whole night sky is his cake and what when he makes a wish, one of those candle-stars blows out.
Happy Birthday Dear Friend and Many, Many More.