Generations fall.

They reach back to when they were voiceless, when words weren’t clear because the air was so dense and wet. Grasping at modified memories that codify defenses and seal them off with hidden desperation. Hidden from their own vision. A dark cloud of choice.

I couldn’t outsmart him. I can’t outsmart this.

There are so many things to be thankful for, and this hard lesson is one of them.

There are turning points that are soft curves. Yesterday was a high, steel wall with glass edges. Thank you, God, for helping me make the turn.

Love to all. Even you.