Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Seventy-Seven
Watching the morning light fill the room.
I read my brother’s post, and remember that he also used to write poetry. It’s a sweet, sweet reflection.
Thick socks.
Blue sky and green hills studded with mustard. A scenic drive is always good for the soul.
I feel a swell of gratitude and text to let them know how much I appreciate them. None of this would have been possible without them.
He is always so much more talkative on these Sunday afternoons and that’s how you know he’s feeling good about himself.
Still not sure how any of this is going to work out. But it will. It will?
This little mentor group always gets me so excited.
I tell them they can think big, no limits. But they say no cruises. “Noravirus. I’m not getting sick.” “Stable governments.” “There are no stable governments.”
Sunday Scaries.
