Simple. Quiet. Messy.
Ordinary but authentic.
Like a snowstorm in April and newborn lambs in the barn.
Like the constant small messes of our everyday existence.
Thinking of you and the community we've created here, together, as my hand heals and I struggle to type (or more accurately to not type) with each passing day.
Thank you for your kindness, your connection, your spirit.
It's hard. To not write. To not post. To not share.
But the silence is good for me. I'm sure of it.
Instagram is a good place to find me until my finger is healed. (It's all thumbs, you see.)