Beginnings stir something surreal and wondrous in me—like the first inhale after a storm. They offer unknown possibilities, reinvention, and second chances.
Beginnings are the charming strangers – mysterious, exciting – you want to get to know them while knowing they might not hang around for long.

However, I’m tired of the constant blank pages. I’ve taken too many first steps – each new step chipping away more parts of me. I enjoy the thrilling breeze and lightness of fresh starts, but I also yearn for the sweet weight of continuity of celebrating milestones.

Having been overfed with all these honeymoon phases, my heart craves continuity – the quiet friend whose presence is assured.
I appreciate the tenderness of new seedlings and their fragile promise, but I also yearn for old vines—steady, rooted, and reliable. I want to sit beneath the shade of perennial trees that I watered over time, pruned, and watched it grow past its delicate stage. Its coolness counted on year after year.

I dream of warm, steady fire and not just fleeting, glittery sparks.

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