Start and restart, there's no end to how many times you can wash yourself clean and begin anew, a blank slate for the telling. You were always a story ready to be unwound, always a curlicue of conversation. Sometimes we forget the voices that call to us, our hearing stumbling, our awareness elsewhere. The Universe has been speaking to me lately, nudging me, poking me in the side to make me giggle, it feels like a long-lost friend returning to the treehouse, like dawn at the end of a Polar Night. I keep finding pennies in the street, the other day I found forty dollars but I'm not sure if I can come to expect that again.
December tumbles out of our hands, takes a disaster year with it, you'll still remember glints of light when you look back. You'll remember having hope at the beginning of the year as you look ahead. Are you ready to shed this skin? Are you ready to build something new out of the rubble?
The answer is yes. The answer is all kinds of yes.
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